


Terra

by SuperiorDimwit



Series: The End of the Beginning [1]
Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Anime/Manga Fusion, Backstory, Conspiracy, Gen, Humor, Prank War, UST, Worldbuilding, plot plot plot, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 111,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperiorDimwit/pseuds/SuperiorDimwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>Some matches are made in heaven, some in hell: and some, quite rare and quite peculiar, are made on earth.</strong>
</p><p>The match in this particular case is between an 18-year-old man without a problem in the world, and an ancient demon with a problem that needs to be fixed. As one might have expected, this leads to problems neither of them could even dream of; still, neither of them is really complaining, either.</p><p>(I own nothing, just borrowing from Katou Kazue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paragon: Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, and thanks for clicking on my story. I hope you will enjoy it - and if you don't, I would be very happy if you told me why. I really want to improve my writing but for that I need feedback. ^_^'

Shuffling up the broad stairs of True Cross Academy, he noted that nothing had changed over summer holidays. Trees looked the same, the grand hallway looked the same – hell, even the new students looked like slightly smaller copies of the ones that had graduated last semester. The prohibition against smoking was also, to his dismay, the same.

"Fujimoto Shiro! How many times do I have to repeat this?" The senior prefect, whose name he always made sure to forget, stormed at him as if the faint glow of the cigarette had been a lighthouse beacon. "No smoking on academy premises. First day on this semester and you already have a warning."

"And at three warnings you take me down to the basement and punish me for being a naughty boy?" He just loved seeing her flustered. Shiro had secretly been trying to find out where she lived, to go visit her during summer break and hopefully, hopefully get the date she always refused to go on during semester.

"No, I will take you to the principal's office and get you suspended."

As if that was even a threat. There was never enough evidence to pin him down - besides, who would mind a few days extra vacation? He gave her a winning grin, wet his fingers and snuffed the cigarette, but left it dangling from his lip.

"See you around, senpai-chan", he winked. No response. Not that it mattered. Maybe there was some cutie among the new arrivals…

"Oi, Shiro-san!"

"Yasuda-san! Don't you get uglier every time I see you…"

The teens met up, mock-fought and threw empty insults. Yasuda had outgrown Shiro by seven centimeters over summer and had the makings of a scrawny moustache that he was immensely proud of. Shiro didn't have any facial hair, which was all good and well: he'd have to dye that too if he wanted it to go with his bleached hair. He still wore his round nerd-glasses, which he explained was because it was "like having a pair of perfectly shaped boobs right in front of your eyes all the time".

"Isn't Fuji-san here? I thought you'd gotten married by now."

Yasuda replied with an elbow to the ribs as they walked up the last flight of stairs.

"He'll be here. The ones living closest to school always arrive last. Fuji's law."

"Fuji's law", Shiro chuckled and juggled his shoulder bag out of the way to allow a swarm of freshmen to pass by. "Speaking of laws, I already got a warning from that sexy senpai for smoking. I think she likes me."

"I think that's your glasses distorting reality for you. So how are we welcoming the freshmen this year? Clogging all the toilets in the dorm?"

"And dunking their heads in them?"

"Do you _want_ to get kicked out? I thought I heard you say you'd cool it a bit."

"That's what I say in front of the teachers." Shiro flicked out a lighter and re-lit his cigarette. "And if they don't catch me they'll never know."

"So you will wear a mask while you dunk the freshmen, or what?"

"I will tell the freshmen that if they rat on me they'll be dunked in the wall next time."

Yasuda shook his head with a smile.

"Oh man, why do you even go to school? The yakuza don't ask for any merits beyond what you've already got."

For the record, Shiro had only dunked a kid's head in a toilet once. The kid in question had been making fun of his glasses, until Shiro had threatened to, well, wash his hair in the toilet. That was back in his first year at True Cross, when people had not yet understood that Shiro was a guy who stood by his word. And when the little blabbermouth didn't quit yapping about his glasses, he did exactly as he had said. In retrospect it might have been a bit over the top, but there and then it had felt like the only sensible thing to do.

"School is where the cute girls in school uniforms are, you jackass!" Shiro braided his fingers together behind his head, glancing up at the ceiling with a wolfish grin. "I might even fall behind and stick around another year or two. What do you think of chòu dòufu in the air vents?"

"For the freshmen? I think it would rock. If you could sneak up there without anyone catching you."

"Yasuda-san~ In these three years, have I ever been caught?" Shiro grinned confidently.

"Yes, for beating up the guy who told you to stop hitting on his girlfriend."

"That doesn't count, it was in public. I never get caught for this kind of thing. Up the waterspout, onto the roof and down again. Child's play."

"For _you_." Yasuda looked down self-consciously at his far-from-athletic frame.

"Hey, your extra large uniform saved our asses that time we poured laxative in the water supply and had to hide the bottle." He patted him on the back. "There's strength in difference, y'know."

Fuji's law held true, as the unkempt, long-haired boy weaselled in on History, last class before lunch break.

"Hirawara Fuji. In all these years I have never seen you attend class on time even _once_."

Shiro gave the thumbs-up from his tilting chair at the back of the classroom. More than anything, he admired Fuji's clueless deadpan every time a teacher was about to tell him off. Every time. As if it had never happened before, as if he had no idea why he was being yelled at. It was a piece of art, dammit. Right up there with Mona Lisa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **Stinky dòufu** is a food that really lives up to its name.


	2. Paragon: Practise

They kept the chòu dòufu in a sealed plastic bag as they made their way to the first-year dorm. Just looking at it made Shiro slightly nauseous.

"It looks like dog shit", Yasuda commented, studying the condensation forming inside the bag. "I used to walk the dog for an elderly lady in my neighbourhood. She was a stingy one that re-used plastic bags from her shopping at the grocery store rather than buying the black ones for dogs. It looked just like this."

"Thanks, Yasuda-san. I'm going to be holding that bag with my teeth when I climb, you know. How's the owl?" Yasuda cupped his hands and hooted low and hollow. "Good. And the pigeon?" Fuji chirped into his hands. "Swell. Alright, Fuji-san goes at the west end of the building, Yasuda-san at the east. If a student comes it's one signal, if it's a teacher, two. Three signals says the coast is clear. Are we all good?"

He didn't have to wait for a response, both guys had already fanned out to take up positions. School years had moulded them into something like a special task force, to the point that if things went wrong, they could predict each others' actions well enough to still act more or less coordinated. And they always covered for one another. It was good to have reliable friends. Not like back home.

The electric generator seemed a good starting point. Shiro sprung up on it, held the plastic bag firmly between his teeth, and started climbing. Water drains, window sills, lamps and balconies gave him everything he needed to reach the roof. Sure, there were fire ladders. They made one hell of a noise, too. And that was no challenge.

On the roof, he took the plastic bag in hand and strolled leisurely towards the first vent. Thank the gods for flat roofs. He remembered from the water supply event that the roof tiles on the older buildings of the Academy weren't nailed, only laid out. They'd almost been caught for that one, when one tile slid and shattered and woke some of the students.

It was an easy job, really. He had just placed the last piece of stinking food in the last vent when a gust of air tore the bag from him. Shiro bit his tongue. Leave no leads, that was a cardinal rule. But it was a transparent plastic bag, the kind you got in every grocery store. Couldn't get anything out of that. And he was pretty sure that search dogs wouldn't be able to pick up his scent through the stench from the chòu dòufu…

" _Now I'm just being paranoid. Seriously? Search dogs for a school prank?_ " He chuckled at himself. Walking back, he took his time looking at the sky behind the sailing cloud shreds. What a different world this was. Familiar to the point of boredom, in one way, but snug and comfortable as all well-worn things are. A few harmless jokes – well, more or less harmless – and a brawl here and there, good laughs and a can of beer to wash down the cigarette smoke. Sure, you could get told off, but that was the extent of it. Nothing actually serious happpened.


	3. Up the rabbit hole

Within the first week Shiro had gotten his second warning for smoking. Not from the same sexy-senpai, which was a shame, but the guy had still known that Shiro had been given a warning before. The prefects seemed to keep record amongst themselves of which students had done what, and if he got caught smoking one more time he'd go to the principal's. He had half a mind to nick that list, but he had no idea where it was kept. Probably not in a safe or something that hardcore. Maybe in a locked drawer in some prefect's dorm room. That left, what, a hundred possible places? Two hundred? And if they kept a copy somewhere else?

Comparing the efforts and risks of tracking down and taking the list, and walking those extra meters outside of Academy premises to have a smoke, the latter outweighed the former. It wasn't that bad, with Yasuda and Fuji keeping him company.

"So what do you think of this weekend?" Fuji said, perched on the stone banister of the suspended walkway. "Mepphy Land is still open for the season."

"That's no fun if you don't have any girls to bring along."

"Shiro-san could lend you some." Fuji cocked his head and grinned. "He looks like a pimp when he's leaning back like that: sloppy tie, sloppy shirt, bleached hair and a smoke. If those glasses were tinted you'd actually look cool."

"Eleven girls' phone numbers say I already look cool", he said, making the victory sign. He turned and leaned his elbows on the banister, blowing smoke out and giving girls in the park on ground level the opportunity to admire his coolness (and potentially even add to his collection of phone numbers). Too bad there weren't any girls there.

"Anyway, if we aren't that pep for Mepphy Land I've got something else", Fuji went on. "Look, there's a rock concert on Sunday, just a fifteen minute walk from our dorm. There'll be booze, too, and I know a guy who might…"

Fuji's voice phased out of Shiro's consciousness as movement drew his attention to an open manhole below. Who the hell wore a _white tailcoat_ to work in a manhole? As the rest of the man surfaced, Shiro stifled a laugh in his hand. Was that a _pantyhose_? And look at those boots!

"Hey guys, come over here, you have to see this! It's some kind of transvestite sewer clow-" The cigarette fell from his lips.

"Transvestite sewer clown? It's time for you to ditch those glasses, man."

"Or maybe that thing you were smoking wasn't just a cigarette", Yasuda added, a playful glint in his eye.

"Yeah, I… I was just messing with you", he picked up as well as he could, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "We shouldn't be sitting here making _plans_ for the weekend: that's wasting the time we have today! I say we go to Mepphy Land on Saturday and the concert on Sunday, and right now we're having yakiniku down the block. On me!"

What could he do but play along? He could never explain that the little white dog in the park had been the transvestite sewer clown…


	4. There's something about Germany...

Amusement parks, so logic dictated, were there for people to amuse themselves. So Shiro thought as he sipped cold soda in the shade beneath the staircase to the Free Fall. Skirts were god's gift to man, amen. Pretty to look at, but prettier to look under. Yet all good things come to an end, and the park caretakers seldom shared his opinion of amusement.

"Oi, Shiro-san; aren't you a little old for this?" Yasuda snickered when he found Shiro's latest hiding spot: the ball pond.

"Shut up", he grumbled, submerged to his chin. "And get in. I lost my glasses in here."

"Man, you're a handful – Fuji-san! Get in here! The blonde idiot lost his glasses! Ouch! How can you aim if you can't see?"

"How can I miss, when you're the target?"

"How wide can you grin? I'm not sure one ball will be enough for you to choke."

It could have turned into a ball pool war right there and then, but Shiro stepped down for fear of crushing his glasses in the tumble. With the three of them looking, they found them in less than half an hour.

Shiro and Fuji were the only ones who knew that Yasuda was really good at the catching-goldfish-with-rice-paper-net game. It was a skill nobody would brag about, but all the same it was a skill to be admired. Yasuda was the kind of guy who would be able to grow bonsai trees, Shiro mused as he watched the slow, meticulous movement of the net in his friend's hand. It looked like under-water chi gong.

They left the goldfish stand carrying four big plushies each, the sad truth being that none had a girl to give them to. In the end Shiro asked the man at the air gun shooting range if they could have a few runs for free if they donated the plushies as prizes. When he agreed, Shiro cracked a wolfish grin. He wasn't the type who would ever grow a bonsai tree, but his aim could pluck a leaf off one from thirty meters away.

Shiro shot him and his friends more chocolate than they could eat in a day before the shopkeeper said they had consumed their free rounds. What they couldn't down themselves they sold off to visiting kids.

Since Shiro had botched his chance to ride the Free Fall, they decided to take Go To Hell. Because, really, after eating that much chocolate there's nothing more fun than to see if you can keep it down.

Shiro and Yasuda could. Fuji made a good effort, but in the end one passer-by below was very unlucky that day.

* * *

"I have to say, Shiro-san: in a zombie apocalypse I'd choose you to be the other survivor with me", Fuji said as they headed for the exit with more money in their pockets than they had when they went in. "I'd have a bodyguard and a breadwinner all in one. Say you can cook too and I'll marry you."

"I can't. That's why I'll marry a girl."

"Grow breasts and he's all yours", Yasuda suggested in a conspirational whisper.

"Grow breasts and I'll- Oi. That statue. Who is that, really?"

That Mepphy Land was a theme park was something Shiro had known since he first entered high school at the Academy, two years ago. He had just never paid attention to what the theme was, or to the giant statue that greeted visitors at the entrance. And Yasuda and Fuji were staring at him as if he'd asked what colour the sky was.

"For real? You've doing your third year at True Cross Academy and you don't know who that is?"

"Well, I _have_ noticed it", he said sullenly. "I thought it was Mepphy Land's mascot clown or something."

Both guys roared with laughter.

"Shiro-san, you're an ass! Who makes five-meter solid gold statues of an amusement park clown? That's the principal!"

"That?" Shiro's face fell. "That's the princi-? Oh, very funny, guys. You almost got me. Who is it?"

"It _is_ the principal", Fuji ensured, every tooth on display. "And yeah he doesn't look like it. They say he's some quirky German aristocrat with truckloads of money. He owns the Academy, amusement park and all, so it wouldn't surprise me if that actually _is_ solid gold."

"Johann… I always forget his name." Yasuda went closer to the statue and squinted at the foreign letters. "Johann F-a-u-s-t, Faust. The fourth. Sounds like aristocracy to me." He glanced up at the monument. "I wonder if they all dress like that in Germany?"

" _I wonder if they all turn into dogs in Germany?_ " Shiro thought to himself.


	5. Meanwhile in True Cross Academy

Shiro came down with a case of very sore throat on Sunday afternoon. A bout of thumping headache, too. In fact, he felt so shitty he couldn't go with Fuji and Yasuda to the concert. He felt shitty for fifteen minutes after they had left, then got up, grabbed a flashlight and stuffed his pockets with onigiri, and went out.

He really hoped the manhole in the park wasn't bolted. The transvestite clown had only shoved it back in place with his foot, not secured it in any other way as far as he had seen. Arriving there, it wasn't bolted. It was, on the other hand, so heavy that it probably didn't need bolts. Shiro climbed the nearest tree, broke off a branch of the approximately right size and wedged it into one of the holes where bolts were usually put. He kept the pressure, and bent. It was a very crude lever. It was entirely the wrong place for a lever, but he needed the lid to slide just a little out of place, just a thin gap between lid and culvert to get a knife blade in-

The branch broke, and Shiro face-planted on the walkway. He cursed quite colourfully and wiped his split lip – but the sudden movement had made the lid jerk up on the edge, and with a bit of force he pushed it out of the way. Then he hesitated. What did he hope to find, really? He scanned the circumference of the culvert, looking for any sort of camera or detection device. Nothing. Bringing out the flashlight, he descended the iron rungs.

He didn't have to climb far, luckily, to find what principal Faust had come for, though he was disappointed: a slip of paper stuck to the moist culvert wall. Apart from the calligraphy on it, which he recognised vaguely as something you could see around shrines, it had the emblem of the academy in the top right corner. A bit further down was an identical slip of paper with a horizontal tear through it. The principal had gone down to replace that?

Shiro put the flashlight between his teeth and flicked out the switchblade knife he kept in a concealed pocket. Angling the side of the knife to the surface to avoid blunting it, he tore the paper from edge to edge. And almost dropped the knife.

" _What was that?_ "

Fire, his first thought had been. Or electricity. Sparks struck by the knife?

Shiro climbed out, more uneasy than he would admit. He usually didn't bat an eye at shady things, but this… He put his foot to the lid and shoved, as he had seen the principal do, but had to give it up. Braced on his knees, almost parallel to the ground, he pushed the lid back. Then he climbed back up the tree, waiting.

* * *

It was quite stupid, really. Shiro had long since eaten the onigiri he'd brought, and he couldn't help but think that he was on a wild goose chase while his friends were enjoying themselves at the concert. He couldn't even know for sure if Faust would replace the paper, if he'd do it today, or tomorrow, or next week.

On cue, just as he thought definitely of leaving, a stark white cape came marching in the dusk. If Shiro didn't know better, he'd say it was the stride of someone annoyed. When Faust reached the manhole he snapped his fingers once.

" _What the…?_ "

The lid slid aside of its own accord. Faust snapped his fingers again, and his cape disappeared in a poof of pink smoke. He went down. Shiro rubbed his eyes.

" _I must have fallen asleep. I can't… this can't…_ "

Faust came up again. As easily as kicking an empty beer can, he put the lid back in place. Then he… studied the ground. Shiro didn't know what else to make of it.

" _I threw the branch into the bushes_ ", he reminded himself, nervously biting his tongue. " _There shouldn't be anything… maybe one drop of blood, that's… no, he couldn't see that, it's too dark…_ "

Faust's shoulders heaved with a sigh. He said something that Shiro couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like "oya oya, they are a handful all right". Then he continued down the path.

Shiro lowered himself down from the tree, sneaked from bush to bush as swiftly as he dared. He admitted, peering from behind a drinking fountain, that he had no idea what he was doing. If Faust turned into a dog, what would he do? If he turned out to be some crazy German wizard, how would he ever convince others of that? He followed him to…

" _The janitor's tool shed?_ " This didn't make any sense, nothing made any sense… " _Damn he's tall_ ", he thought when he realised how small the door was next to Faust. He was feeling around his pockets, then came the rattling of a key ring. " _He's really going into the janitor's shed?_ " But when the door opened light flooded out. The room inside was immensely larger than the tool shed, and furnished with heavy pieces in pinks and stripes… And then the door shut, and Faust was gone.

He didn't really think it would work, but he skulked over to the shed. The door was locked. He studied the lock and fished out some other instruments he kept concealed. After a minute of poking and twisting and gentle coaxing, the lock yielded. Shiro's flashlight revealed dirt floor and rakes, loppers, a lawn mower, spades…

" _Am I going crazy?_ "


	6. Fight or flight

Akuri-sensei sure was cute. The way she constantly pulled a strand of hair behind her ear when she read aloud from the course book was nice. The way her skirt rode up her thigh when she sat down was even nicer. And the way her blouse seemed at least two sizes too small for her chest… Never mind that English was his worst subject; he had the best teacher.

Shiro was absorbed in imagining Akuri-sensei in less clothed states when Fuji came in late. There was nothing noteworthy about that, but when sensei lectured him (surprisingly sternly for someone so hot) he actually looked… devastated. He apologised, bowed, and took his seat a couple of rows behind Shiro. Before long, a note was passed to him.

_Big trouble, Shiro-san. Tell you more after class._

No matter how hot Akuri-sensei was, Shiro was very uncomfortable that English lesson.

"They're onto me." Fuji looked like he would pass out any moment. "I heard it from a second-year prefect. They found a receipt in a bag that smelt of chòu dòufu, and they went down to the shop where it was printed and asked, and today they left a report with my name's on it at the principal's office!"

"I'm sure you'll get away with a warning, Fuji-san. It was harmless after all."

"That's easy for you to say, Shiro-san! You're always on time, even if you dress sloppy and daydream through your lessons! Same with you, Yasuda-san. My record's bad as it is, and I don't have good grades either. They'll tell my parents for sure." His face crinkled up with desperation. "My dad's going to kill me! He'll say I'm a high-cost low-outcome investment and take me out of school!"

Shiro bit his tongue. He would've just laughed it off if it had been his name on that report, but Fuji was… wimpier. He tagged along because Shiro was strong and smart and a daredevil, everything Fuji wasn't: Shiro was well aware of that. Still, Fuji was part of the team. He'd taken his fair share of blame for things, and was responsible for getting the cigarettes that Shiro was too young to buy. Shiro had never met Fuji's parents, but what he had heard from Yasuda confirmed that taking Fuji out of school was a realistic turn of events, even if he got away with a warning. And whose fault was it that the bag with the receipt had been found?

"I'll get that report. In fact, I'll go get it straight away."

They both stared at him. It was difficult to read what was in their eyes – admiration, fear, incredulity... he didn't give a damn. A man cleans up his own mess, that's all. If you couldn't face up to it you couldn't handle it, and if you couldn't handle it you would run from it. Shiro wasn't a runner.

And so he found himself asking directions for the principal's office. It involved many stairs. In fact, being the head of a school seemed to indicate that you also had to be at the head of the school. A school that really could benefit from a few escalators. At the grand, white double doors, Shiro hesitated. It surprised even him: he never hesitated once he'd set his mind on something. But this…

"C'mon, it's not like I haven't done it before." He wiped his palms on his trousers and wished he could have a smoke. " _Or is it because the place I'm breaking into belongs to a monster principal who can turn into a dog and open space portals?_ " Shiro sat down on his haunches and peered through the keyhole. " _Oh I'll be…_ " The room was the very same he'd seen through the tool shed door. And it was empty. Good. " _I wonder if I can pick that lock…_ "

As it turned out, he couldn't. He couldn't find anything for the lockpick to catch on, which suggested that there was no internal mechanism and the lock was more or less painted on the door. That was a ludicrous thought, since the door was obviously locked.

In the end, Shiro had to admit that sometimes the world really is ludicrous. He put away his instruments. Took a deep breath. Considered. Then he unlatched one of the windows in the corridor and climbed out.

The principal had quite the view from up there, he had to admit. The tickly, exhilarating feeling of doing something reckless rushed down his spine and pushed him out of the window, down onto a narrow ornamental ledge. Thank higher powers that the academy was built like a wedding cake; at least he'd have many chances to catch hold of something if he fell. On the other hand; many things to hit before he landed, too.

Knuckles white and switchblade in mouth, he edged his way on the ledge towards the panorama windows outside the office. He felt a little like a pirate and a little like a burglar, but mostly like an adrenaline-tripping teenage boy doing the possibly stupidest thing in his life. Well, a short exciting life was better than a long dull one…

He got around to the window and found a set of panes that opened, but stopped. He could easily slide his switchblade into the gap and push open the latch, but that also meant cutting the paper slip stuck to the window. Faust would know that someone had been in his office, something he had wanted to avoid. Moreover, he had some way of knowing that these weird papers were destroyed, and where. A manhole in a park had a five-hour time window: how much time would he get for tearing one just outside his office? Less. A lot less.

Shiro bit his tongue. He scanned the desk inside and concluded that the man was well organised and had all papers neatly stacked (despite the desk being crowded with an impressive collection of weird toys and anime figurines). He wouldn't have to go through them all, then, only the ones that were reports from prefects. That narrowed it down to perhaps… twenty minutes. The ones that had come in today should be on top, or at least stacked separately. It was only 2 p.m., not that many reports could have been filed. Say ten minutes. Would that be enough? If that really was a magic lock, and Faust had a magic key, and Shiro had understood the event in the park properly, then Faust could stick that key into any lock and step right into his office. So, ten minutes for him to get to any door? If he was in a crowded place and wanted to keep the magic secret, maybe. If he was alone, Shiro was toast.

And so was Fuji. Dammit.


	7. A reckless boy

The paper tore with the same strange, pink sparks as the last one had. Well, time to wonder later. Shiro flipped the latch, opened the window and jumped down. Blade in mouth he scanned the stacks of papers, leafed through the top layers and skimmed the text. Personnel reports, funding requests, sponsoring requests, memos, management reports, being a principal seemed like hell…

The panorama window exploded in a shower of glittering shrapnel. Shiro dove under the desk, heart racing. What the hell?! Why, of all days in the week and all weeks of the year, did this happen _now_? He jumped out, knife drawn, adrenaline rushing. Nothing. The office was empty.

Shiro crashed backwards on the floor, sharp pain tearing his left shoulder. Out of pure instinct, he kicked. Whatever that was, wherever it had come from, he wanted it a thousand miles away from him. He didn't even feel his wounds as he rolled to the side and got up. A huge, sinewy… dog… tiger… thing… It smelled like rot, it _stank_ of it, and though Shiro knew it was impossible, that thing must be dead. It bared its teeth and gurgled at him. He circled to have his back against a wall, knife poised in reverse grip to allow for stabbing while the lower arm and elbow provided defence for head and chest.

" _I'm so dead…_ "

It came closer on legs that seemed barely attached by skin and tendon, black liquid oozing from mouth and eyes. It was, beyond a doubt in the world, dead.

" _Here's your zombie apocalypse, Fuji_ ", he thought, and despite how crazy it was, he smiled. "Come on, you ugly piece of shit." He feigned an attack, to intimidate, but the thing responded by lunging.

Shiro went for the floor, letting the thing carve up its side on the knife through its own momentum. He landed under it, stabbed straight into the inside of its thigh and rolled out, hoping he'd at least slowed it down. No. It didn't even notice. No blood came from the wounds, only thick, oozing blackness.

" _What the hell is this…?_ "

"That's quite enough. You: out."

Faust stood in the doorway, a garish pink umbrella slung over his shoulder. The dead monster dog froze, ears perking up.

"You heard me", Faust scolded. "Get. Out."

The dog took the room in two bounds and leapt out the window.

"My my, what have you done to my office?" Faust sounded as if he'd come home to find that the cat had knocked over the same vase it always knocked over. He removed top hat and cape and put them on the coat hanger, leaving the umbrella in the umbrella stand. "Ukobach." A resounding poof, and a purple monkey with kitchen gloves and an apron stood beside him, bowing. "Get a Doctor up here, immediately. We have a ghoul type injury. Some ramen would be nice, too~" The little monkey bowed again, and Shiro thought for a moment that it looked like it had horns, before it disappeared in the same manner it had come.

Faust walked up to him. Shiro couldn't help but stare at a peculiar hair curl that bobbed as he went.

"Congratulations", he smiled, and Shiro's attention immediately switched to the very long, very sharp teeth that smile revealed. Was it even a smile? Or was it more like a predator about to snag its prey by the neck? "You are the greatest troublemaker the academy has ever seen: pleased to meet you, by the way~ I usually feed burglars to the goblins, but I can't very well do that with one of my students, can I? Too much additional paper work. So, a different solution. Put that knife away, for starters."

Faust flicked his wrist dismissively at the switchblade still clutched tightly in Shiro's hand.

"I don't allow unauthorized weapons at my school, and you wouldn't be able to kill anything with it anyway. You have an aptitude for improvised drama, yes~? Got you out of many sticky situations with teachers? So, you were waiting in my office when the Naberius broke through", he glanced at the remains of the window, giving Shiro ample opportunity to notice his pointy ears, "my poorly constructed barrier. Making me a sloppy principal and you an innocent victim of circumstances – you don't have any difficulty acting according to that, do you?"

When you don't understand a thing, play along. Shiro nodded, put away the switchblade and... sat down. Now that he wasn't in immediate lethal danger his body was keen on telling him just how much his wounds hurt. Was that dog venomous? Or why had Faust said ghoul type injury? What was a Naberius anyway? A zombie dog? And that little monkey-creature… Both had understood and obeyed Faust. Of all the weird things there, he was the weirdest. Just look at those boots. And that voice. You couldn't trust a word that voice said.

It was, or had been, an exquisitely furnished office. A nauseous feeling in Shiro's stomach followed that notion: what if he was required to pay for the damage? The carpet alone looked like it was worth more money than he'd had in his life, and it was full of black… stuff. The chairs the Naberius-zombie-thing had smashed at some point had an old, European look to them and, oh, crap, don't let that be silk coverings on the cushions…

The unpleasant train of thoughts was interrupted when a man in long, black coat came rushing through the doors. Shiro had seen people in such coats from time to time, and always assumed they were school inspectors or something thereabouts that didn't concern him. The man introduced himself hurriedly as "Neru, upper middle class exorcist of True Cross Order", and set to work on his shoulder. All the while, speaking with him and asking what had happened: probably trying to evaluate whether he was in shock or not – Shiro had no idea, but he didn't feel shocked. Answering according to Faust's cover story, he tried to determine what he did feel. Every hair stood on end, as if he were a transmitter for electric current.

Shiro had expected a shot, antiseptics, a patch and a good-to-go, but was treated with an assortment of salves that smelled strongly of herbs before getting bandaged. All the while, Faust sat back in a chair and watched. Where he got that instant ramen from was anyone's guess.

By the time Neru left, Shiro had settled down and had his mind set. He might be the one at fault here, but Faust wasn't lily-white either.

"Why do you know who I am?"

Faust put his chopsticks down in the ramen cup with an unimpressed look.

"Academy prefects have been stuffing your name in my ears since the day you enrolled. Fujimoto Shiro did this, Fujimoto Shiro did that, Fujimoto Shiro-should-be-relegated-and-why-aren't-you-doing -anything? Nothing is done because there is no evidence - unless we count this little incident~" He grinned. "Of all things, I never thought I would catch you for larceny."

"I didn't think I would be almost killed for larceny", he retorted. "What kind of school is this, exactly? If he was an exorcist", he motioned his head in direction of the door, "then that thing, the Naberius – was that a demon?"

"Indeed it was." Faust looked very pleased. In a discomforting sort of way. "True Cross is an academy for bright minds, and for the Japanese branch of the Vatican exorcists."

"But you're not an exorcist."

"Certainly not~ I'm your headmaster."

Shiro met his gaze evenly. Green eyes, he'd noted. Not green in any way natural, but green as moss and spring leaves.

"What I meant was, you don't exorcise demons. You don't have to, if they obey you. Are you a demon?"

"There is no doubt in your voice, and yet you address me in such rude manners? Tsk tsk, what a reckless boy. Reckless, but observant~" He clapped his gloved hands in mock applause – or was it sincere? Damn that voice, it was impossible to tell. "There are demons like the Naberius that attacked you, who mindlessly go after anything that breathes: and there are demons like me, who find the human world a quite agreeable place to live. I work with the Vatican to keep it that way. You don't look the least convinced", he noted, and Shiro could have sworn that as his eyebrows went up in  
lazy disinterest, his ears went down in annoyance.

Seeing that Shiro wasn't about to comment, he moved over to take a seat behind the desk.

" _I can't believe his shoes... or those tights..._ "

"Your grades don't betray it - and your careless behaviour certainly doesn't, either - but you're clever." He snatched the remains of the paper slip from the window frame and sat. "Who would be better suited to run a school for exorcists, you think? Who knows more about demons than a demon?" He braided his fingers together and tilted his head ever so slightly forward, casting shadow over eyes that, Shiro realized, glowed faintly. "Who would be better suited to look after little troublemaking humans and make sure they don't get themselves killed?"

Shiro could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees at the change of tone in Faust's voice. His heart froze. He'd always thought that a stupid expression, but there and then he understood it perfectly.

"However~" Faust's voice bounced back to that peculiar lilt. He laid his chin on the folded fingers with a flirtatious smirk that added another dimension to Shiro's discomfort. "To go one-on-one with a Naberius, with only that little pocket knife – that's something. I could look between my fingers with your breaking into my office _and_ endangering other students by sabotaging my barrier, if you do me a favour in return. Eins, zwei, drei." Faust snapped his fingers: the overturned furniture tilted back in place and reassembled, the splintered glass patched itself back together in the window frame. Despite himself, Shiro watched the show unfold in amazement. "You may be responsible for a great deal of vandalism at True Cross, but you weren't the first to destroy the wards. This is the deal I offer: you help me find out who is sabotaging my school, and why, and I will let you off the hook." He flashed another beaming smile. "Nothing quite like blackmailing to lay the foundation for good cooperation, hm~?"

"Yeah, aren't things just dandy? But you know, making deals with demons never end well", Shiro observed, one corner of his mouth pulled into a grin. "Why should I trust you?"

For a moment, Faust stared blankly at him. Then he burst out laughing.

" _I don't know if he's scary or embarrassing…_ "

"Ahahahaha, hah, hehehehaha, ahaha! The nerve! Hahaaa! Ah, I'm cracking a rib! Ahaha! My my, I see I'm talking to a young man who knows the ways of the world", he smirked. "Very well~ If you help me, your record will be clear as spring water: for that I give you my word." He spread his hands. "A demon's word is a contract written in the living rock, in effect until the foundations of earth crumble. Is that good enough for you?"

"Not quite."

"Eh?"

Shiro rose. Faust was used to pulling the strings, alright: that kind of cocksure authority demanded opposition. And Shiro was True Cross Academy's foremost, undisputed daredevil.

"I came here for a friend, Hirawara Fuji. There is a report with his name on it on your desk." He looked the demon square in the eye. "That paper needs to disappear."

"I can make that happen", he said, an odd… mesmerized look on his face.

"Also." Shiro put his hands on the desk and leaned in, so close he could have counted the eyelashes on the drooping Faust's reptile pupils with a calm face, he pushed further: "I don't trust a man, or whatever, who won't use his real name. If your name is Johann Faust the fourth I'll be Tetsuwan Atom. So, whose word do I have for this?"

"The word of Lord Mephistopheles, one of the eight princes of the demon world." Something flashed in the green eyes. "And you, Fujimoto Shiro, are the only human alive who knows that."

* * *

Shiro made it one step out of the office, then he had to support himself against the wall and slide down. His heart pumped like crazy. Closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the wall, he let out a long breath. He felt like he had been holding that breath the entire time. A demon. A real, live, goddamn _demon_...

Shiro didn't quite understand how he had pulled off what he had just pulled off, but his body was certainly feeling the effects of it. The world – world _s_ , if what the demon had explained was true – had turned themselves inside out and puked him into a racing spiral of madness. He had just made a deal with a demon prince, enrolled at a secret school for exorcists and… who cared? Who cared what he had done? His body tingled, a huge grin plastered over his face, and all he could think of was tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Tetsuwan Atom** is the Japanese name for Astro Boy.


	8. Crossroads

Shiro fingered the key in his pocket the whole next day. It was large, heavy, and held the promise of a different life. A life where magic was real, demons also, and True Cross Academy was a battleground for something greater than the everyday world. He fingered the key, because it was the sole thin promise he had that yesterday had been more than just a dream. Though he still felt a bit of vertigo, the wounds in his shoulders had closed overnight. The skin was a tender, angry pink, but one that still looked several weeks old.

Fuji was over-the-top when Shiro explained that the report had been taken care of – he actually gave him his trophy from the rock concert: a lace bra from a cute shop assistant in True Cross Academy town. Upon hearing _how_ he had broken into the office, Yasuda proclaimed him a clinically insane, suicidal idiot and asked for his autograph.

It was quite a nice day, actually. When he made up an excuse of going on a date (he'd picked up a twelfth phone number, a crêpe shop-assistant with at least F-cup) they just grinned and gave him the thumbs up. So why did it feel so strange when he went back to their dorm room alone?

" _That's right_ ", he thought, hand on the doorknob, " _I've never lied to them before._ "

But Faust had told him to keep his attendance at cram school secret. He had also said that he could make up any story he saw fit to explain to the other cram school kids why he studied there, if the need arose. Shiro's eyes lingered on the door without seeing it. Any story. A new beginning, another one. Another layer of dirt to bury the past.

" _Good._ "

When he stepped in, the new uniform lay neatly folded on his bed. He changed, then considered. He removed the switchblade and the lockpicking equipment and stuffed them into a pair of socks. Then he pulled out the chair from the desk, unscrewed the cover of the vent and hid them in the air duct. Some things belonged in the past.

Hefting his shoulder bag, he put the key in the room door and turned it. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he grinned wide. And opened.


	9. Down the rabbit hole

It looked like True Cross Academy, and yet it didn't. Shiro took in the high, vaulted ceiling and the marble-paved floor of the corridor he had stepped into. This place looked older thatn the regular parts, and more… austere. And empty. Good. Because there was one thing he _had_ to do.

Shiro selected a door at random, put the key in the lock and opened. Behind him, he saw the door he'd come through open, and his arm stuck out through it. Shiro grinned wide, the way you do when you've just cheated the laws of nature.

He pocketed the key and strolled along searching for room 1106, an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He had hoped to get there before everybody else and seemed to be doing well so far. When he opened the creaky door to the classroom there was only one other person there: a brown-haired guy a wee bit on the heavy side. Shiro instantly wanted to take him out on a bar-crawl. Checking that weird impulse, he raised a hand and grinned.

"Yo. Fujimoto Shiro, nice to meet you."

The guy bounced up from his chair, knocking it over, and struggled to get it up as quick as possible before greeting Shiro with a formal bow.

"Karegawa Ryuuji – and nice to meet you too!" he beamed. He was the exact opposite of Johann Faust: this guy had the most earnest, likable face Shiro had ever come across.

"Good to know I'm in the right place." He scratched at the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "I'm new to this."

"We all are. Classes should have begun last week, but they were postponed. So... um..." Ryuuji wore the look of someone trying desperately to come up with something to say.

"Have you got the schedule?" Shiro helped. "I haven't got a clue what we're doing today."

"Oh – it's introduction, Demonology and P.E.. They give you all theory before they let you do anything practical. Well, P.E. is practical, but not exorcist-practical, if you- yeah, you know. And then there's tests, but I don't know anything about them. My brother wouldn't tell me. I have an older brother, see, who's already underway meistering as Tamer, and-"

"Oi, oi, slow down. I'm new, remember? What's meistering?"

"Oh." Ryuuji flopped down on his chair with a weak smile. "Sorry, I forgot. Well, once you're past the first two stages, Page and Esquire, you choose which class you will specialise in: Tamer, Doctor, Knight, Dragoon or Aria. You can Meister in two, if you want. I was thinking of Doctor, and maybe Dragoon. I've never held a weapon before, though, so I don't know if I'm any good. I mean, what I really would like is to be a Knight", he blushed and looked down, "but I'm too clumsy. And I don't think I could fight with a sword, you know… up close… it takes more guts than I have. Sir Pheles  
is a Knight, you know." He glanced up again, looking like a kid about to showcase the pride of his toy collection. "Honorary Knight, they call it – did you know the Vatican created that class solely for him? How cool isn't that?"

"You mean Mephistophe- Mephisto Pheles?" Trust that clown to come up with such a stupid pseudonym.

"Yeah. He's the one who made me want to become an exorcist. When my brother came home over holidays and told me about exorcist cram school, and that the principal was a demon, I was all 'wow!', you know. 'If he can do it, so can I!'"

Shiro didn't know what to make of it. Was the guy a demon? But he didn't have the ears, his teeth were normal, and he wasn't strange in any- hang on. He was strange. He was-

Shiro wasn't given any more time to ponder as the door hit the wall with a startling bang. He reached for a switchblade that wasn't there.

"At least we had the guts ta stay an' fight, ya piece o' dog shit!"

"For dying is so much more important than getting people to safety!"

"Getting _your_ asses ta safety, ya mean!"

Shiro didn't know what they were on about, but the guy with the piercings definitely had the upper hand in the fight, poor as it was. Neither of the guys that came tumbling in through the door knew what he was doing. They swung wildly, trying to get as many punches in as they could. Shiro leaned on Ryuuji's bench, arms crossed, and watched.

"Shouldn't we stop them? They could get hurt…"

"They _will_ get hurt." He let the cigarette loll up and down. "They might even learn something from it. Like blocking."

The door creaked, and in came a tall girl… and then the fight was over.

"Well, I'll be… at least someone in here knows how to fight." Shiro grinned appreciatively at the amazon who held both guys down on the ground. _Hot_.

"She looks like she could snap their necks in a single twist", Ryuuji whispered with a tint of horror.

"She looks like she could crush their heads with her boobs. I wonder if those are natural?"

"Is this the famed True Cross Academy? A bunch of hormonally challenged teenage runts?" Her voice was arctic ice, slowly creeping over the landscape and grinding rock to gravel. "I hope you're better at fighting demons." With that, the amazon let go of her captives and got to her feet. She wore the sleeved type of uniform with full stockings to go with the skirt, her hair kept in a tight bun. Shiro had never been into the soldier-librarian fetish, but he was prepared to reconsider.

"I'm Katsuda Agari, and I'm here to become an exorcist. What's your reason?"

Ryuuji looked like he wanted to crawl inside his bench and hide.

"I'm Fujimoto Shiro, and I'm here because I want to." He flashed his best smile. "Nice work, by the way."

Agari eyed him head-to-toe and quirked the corner of her mouth. Whether she appreciated his boldness or mocked him was anyone's guess.

"Ya crazy bitch…" The pierced guy massaged his neck and the arm she had twisted.

"What the monkey means to say is that you could have been gentler", the other guy ground out as he got up. He was taller than the other, and lankier, and he had _the look_. The look of someone whose self-assurance is almost as thick as his wallet. Agari shoved him back down with her foot.

"You apologise first." She gave the other a dead glare. "Then you."

"He started it…!" came a muffled voice from the floor.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Yaonaru Kita."

"Well, Kita-kun: do you think I care who started it?"

"…no."

"And what did I ask you to do?" When he didn't respond, she dug her heel into his back. Shiro was pretty sure those weren't the standard-issue shoes for girls. More like a lighter version of combat boots.

"You asked me to apologise", he snarled.

"So, why are you wasting time answering questions I didn't ask? If I want to know who started it, I will ask who did. If I want you to behave less like animals and more like humans, and apologise to each other, then that's what I will tell you to do. So…?"

"I'm sorry."

The pierced guy, having witnessed the outcome of resistance, was quicker about his apology. He turned out to be Honda Shizuku.

The awkward silence had just begun to settle in the dusty corners of the room when two more students came in, happily chatting and laughing. There was no doubt that one of the girls was a demon: red, black-tipped fox ears protruded from short-cropped, equally red hair. The other girl wore her black hair long, carefully arranged in traditional fashion with pins and combs. Shiro congratulated himself to having two cute and one hot new classmate.

"We got lost on our way here, I'm sorry we made you wait." She sounded a little… dreamy. "I'm Futotsuki Sen."

"I'm Sakura Midori", the demon-girl smiled. She had fangs – and a glint in her eyes that made Shiro's head empty like a sink with a pulled plug. "Pleased to meet you all~"

* * *

"And that's it for introductions", Kohu-sensei concluded half an hour later. She was old, old enough to have her hair turned fully iron grey, but there was no trace of age in how she moved and spoke. "One last formality to settle, and then we will begin your first lesson. Who in here has yet to receive a mashou?" Kita raised his hand. "Good. Normally we would summon low-level demons for this, but if any of you would do the honours..." she looked from Midori to… Ryuuji? "Then we could proceed with minimum delay. Of course, nobody will force you if you aren't comfortable with doing that sort of thing."

"I can do it", Midori offered and wove herself out of her seat without moving the chair or touching the desk.

"Thank you, Sakura-chan. Meanwhile, I would like to stress the advantages of having half-demons in exorcist squads. Not only are they stronger and sturdier, but many have inherited special gifts from their demon parent." Midori distracted Kita with a smile and a wink, and made the tiniest cut in his arm with a very long, very sharp nail. Shiro quietly lamented that he hadn't raised his hand. "Some, for example, have excellent sense of smell and can help track down demons. Others have good hearing and can tell long beforehand if you are being followed or ambushed. What you need to remember is that some of the weapons we use can also harm our comrades. Holy water, for example, is sometimes doused on exorcists to provide protection in battle. This tactics does not work for half-demons."

Midori got back to her chair, a single tress of hair at her neck trailing behind her like a tail.

"So, your very first lesson: demonology. The classes, names and characteristics of demons, and how to fight them. Sounds simple, doesn't it?" Kohu-sensei fished out a stack of books and placed them on the desk with a grandmotherly smile. Shiro groaned inwardly. They were going to read all _that_? "This is the literature I had when I studied demonology."

And with that, she began to read all the titles around. Shiro's spirits dropped into his shoes and further down through the worn floorboards. He couldn't even understand half of the titles on these goddamn _bricks_.

"The Testament of Solomon. De Praestigiis Daemonum et Incantationibus ac Venificiis, with appendiced Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. Clavicula Salomonis. Clavicula Salomonis Regis. Liber Juratus Honorii. Compendium Maleficarum." Kohu-sensei finished at long last, selecting a book out of the pile and opening its creaking pages. "To give you a sample of what it was like to study exorcism back then, Clavicula Salomonis Regis lists 72 demon lords. In Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, the number is 69. The demon lord Leraye is mentioned in both, but with five variations to his name. There are countless records of the Princes of Gehenna, the most high-ranking demons save for Satan himself, but not two list the same names and very few give the same number of Princes. In Pseudomonarchia Daemonum Amaimon is King of the East; whereas in Liber Juratus Honorii all spirits associated with East are benevolent, and Amaimon is said to be King of the North. In all works he is King of Earth – that is, in the works that mention him at all." Kohu-sensei closed the book carefully and laid it down among the rest. "It's a miracle that we could exorcise anything at all, if you ask me. And I won't even start on possession of inanimate objects, or the connections with demons in Arabic, Talmudic, Hindu, and Buddhist records. You are required to have a superficial knowledge of these works I have here, but this is the only one you actually need to study. Pass them down the rows, please."

It was a tome rather than a book, made with lightweight paper to be at all possible to lift. _Comprehensive Demonology for the 20th Century_ , the title read.

"This is the only book in the world that ties together and makes sense of the mess I have here on my desk. It contains all the names, classes, abilities, characteristics, seals, fatal verses and weaknesses, and it is henceforth your Bible. Read it, eat it, breathe it. You will have a test on the first five chapters in two weeks."

Shiro flipped open the table of contents, which by itself covered three pages. Earth demons, fire demons, rot demons… a separate chapter for the Princes of Gehenna. There were seven of them, and none called Mephistopheles. Had he lied? And should he be surprised? Shiro closed the book, but opened it again when his eyes caught something on the dedication page: _Compiled and printed with the kind help and great knowledge of Johann Faust IV._ …and what was the deal with the little star?

" _Well, if I were a demon I wouldn't give my weaknesses away to the enemy either…_ "

But the exorcists weren't Faust's enemies. He had allied himself with the Vatican against Satan. Or so he had said. How well can you trust a demon...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  Let's just say that when I did my homework on Renaissance grimoirs to write this fic, I would have been _very_ grateful for a compilation like Contemporary Demonology. Kohu's rant is essentially my own.


	10. Frustration

P.E.. One of Shiro's better subjects - well, normal P.E., at least.

"Remember: if the dökkálfr's vines touch you, you're dead. Well, uh, not _dead_ but, you know, speaking figuratively…" The professor, upper middle class exorcist Gokuro, was an almost comical sample of stage fright. When he spoke he was fidgeting and stuttering and looking in all directions except at the students he was instructing. "If you die, a comrade needs to carry you back to base where you will be restored."

 _Honeybee_ had very simple rules: steal a sandbag from the guard without getting touched and make it back to base. What made it different from regular P.E. games was that the guard really was a dökkálfr. A lower-class one under Gokuro-sensei's control, but still…

" _I can't believe it. It's like kindergarten._ "

There is no better way of discerning the personalities in a group than by making them solve a task.

Shizuku had charged ahead like a bull on rampage, dodging a few vines narrowly before getting hit. Kita ignored him as he advanced, observing from a safe distance and waiting for a chance to sneak in while the dökkalfr was focused on Agari. She was doing a solo-performance of what seemed like a very draining exercise in advancing and falling back. Sweat already dripped from the tip of her nose and Shiro looked very much forward to when her t-shirt would be soaked through. Meanwhile, Ryuuji danced hesitantly on his toes, looking for an opening to get in and drag Shizuku out: Sen had already given it a go, and been hit. Midori had insane stamina and a quick step, but her efforts to get support from Agari were completely ignored.

"Oi. Guys." Shiro was there to observe and investigate: that was his agreement with Faust. He had not planned on stepping forward like this, but their performance was unforgivable. "Guys – and girls –, we need to think this through. Oi! Would you just-"

A giant, slobbering blob of fur exploded into existence and roared Agari in the face, covering her in yellowish spit. It hit Midori square in the chest with a thick, arrow-tipped tail and made Ryuuji trip over his feet with a yelp. Even the dökkálfr held still for a bewildered moment. The thing trained its huge, yellow eyes on Sen.

"Shiro-san is trying to say something", she said with a soft smile from her spot on the ground. "Thank you, goblin." The demon disappeared with a muffled bang.

"Eh, yeah… Thank you, Sen-chan... Look, this isn't working. _We_ aren't working. It's plain as day that this is an exercise in cooperation, and we're making asses of ourselves." Shiro shifted his feet to stand more firmly. If he was going to take on the leader-role he might as well act it. "Agari-chan is a good sprinter, but lacks stamina." The tall girl's glare hardened, but she didn't protest. "Shizuku-san is a sprinter, too: you two should be taking the bags. The rest of us will provide distraction and carry those who fall. Midori-chan has the best stamina, and she's quick: she should be the main decoy." Midori nodded weekly in agreement, still recovering from having the air knocked out of her. "You adapt according to Agari-chan and Shizuku-san, and we adapt according to you. Sen-chan and Kita-san are both built lightly and are easy to carry, so you would be the best sacrifices if-"

"Sacrifices? You said this was a co-op exercise", Agari said, face set in stone. "Throwing comrades to the sharks isn't my idea of cooperation."

"I thought you came here to become an exorcist, Agari-chan", he said, challenge seeping into his voice and eyes. "Throwing themselves to the sharks is what exorcists do, to protect people. Anyone who isn't prepared to put his or her life on the line for others shouldn't come to True Cross Academy."

Agari eyed him for a long while, and Shiro wondered if it really had been so wise to say what he had said. Eventually, her strange smile quirked into place.

"You talk big, Shiro-kun. Very well: let's see your plan in action."

With coordinated distraction they got Shizuku and Sen back in the game, and from there it went smoothly for the most part. Sen tired quickly and had to be resurrected a few times, which let them discover that Ryuuji, though not very nimble, was strong enough to handle that task alone. Once that was established, Ryuuji became the main rescuer while the others concentrated on distraction and retrieval respectively. That was good, especially since Kita always managed to be someplace else whenever Shizuku needed rescuing.

The best fire to forge understanding is suffering, and the cement to build bonds is sweat. Panting, aching, limping and dripping, they looked at the twelve sandbags at the end of class and shared exhausted grins.

* * *

"Nice speech", Shizuku said in the changing room. "I think ye're about the only one with a shot at getting that flagpole ta listen. But you should watch it a little, ya know." He gave him a sideways glance as he towelled his hair dry. "Ya were right in what ye said, but man: don't say things like sacrifice. A word like that in a place like this opens old wounds. I lost my dad and two sisters." Shizuku turned, allowing Shiro to see the pinkish, ragged scars of something that had torn deep into his back. "I can bet ya Agari-chan's lost a few, too. Ye seen the way she looks at Midori-chan and Ryuuji-san?" His brown eyes grew darker. "Things could get ugly there. I don't blame 'er fer holding a grudge 'gainst whatever killed her folks, but ye gotta make a  
difference between demon and half-demon. Ain't that right, Ryuuji-san?" he spoke up cheerfully as Ryuuji came out of the showers.

"Well, I… I guess." He looked lost but smiled, still with that earnest likability that Shiro had never seen any human possess. "I mean, there's good and bad people, and good and bad demons, so… I guess there are good and bad hanyou too."

"Good an' bad demons?" Shizuku raised a pierced eyebrow.

"Yeah, y-you know… some demons actually help people… and… and Sir Pheles switched allegiances openly…" Ryuuji was like a fish on dry land, floundering and flopping helplessly under Shizuku's steadily increasing scowl. "He… he's my hero. No demon or hanyou has ever accomplished what he's done. No demon has ever gains- gained enough trust from the Vatican to be appointed to that kind of- that kind of position. He-"

"Hold on. Lemme just get this straight before ya continue. Sir Pheles is our principal, right?" Shizuku had forgotten all about clothes or towel. "Is he a demon?"

"Yup", Shiro provided in light tones. "Kinda surprised me too, but when you think about it: who knows more about demons than a demon? Who would be better suited to supervise the training of exorcists?"

"And who would be a better spy fe' Satan than a demon inside the Vatican?"

"Shizuku-san!" Ryuuji looked horrified and hurt: a combination that went in like a spearhead between Shiro's ribs.

"I was just thinking!" Shizuku snapped. "Ye have to admit it's weird. The Vatican's been using demons ta get information for centuries, alright, but they never _trusted_ them. Why this one? What did 'e do ta gain that acceptance? If anyone could tell me that, I might feel a bit easier 'bout it."

"That's classified", Kita enlightened dryly on his way over to his pile of clothes.

"Who asked you, dipshit?"

"Oh, some monkey that charges headfirst into anything without obtaining information beforehand. I bet _everybody_ here knew Sir Pheles' origi-"

Shizuku's forehead struck Kita's nose bone with a devastating crunch. Kita responded with a crooked right that glanced off Shizuku's cheek, then a knee in the groin. Doubled-over, Shizuku head-butted the other in the gut and slogged his arms around him. Both went down on the floor.

Shiro's eyebrow twitched.

"Oi! Cut that out, you monkeys! Ryuuji-san, give me a hand here!"

Before Ryuuji had found the courage to step in with his monster-strength, Shiro had contracted a split eyebrow and a painful throbbing in his ribs. He, Shizuku and Kita were sitting in the infirmary: the latter two getting their asses chewed off by nurses, and Shiro sullenly getting taped together by a male nurse. How to explain this to Yasuda and Fuji? "The date didn't go well"? His lips stretched somewhat. Yeah, that would give them a good laugh.

* * *

The explanation would have to wait until tomorrow. The whole dorm was in bed when Shiro sleepwalked his way to his room, dumped the shoulder bag, shuffled down to the bathrooms and had to think really hard to get the right end of the toothbrush into his mouth. Checking his reflection, he did wish he'd gotten hit harder. Scars like that in the face looked manly.

"Guten Abend!"

Shiro shrieked, then remembered everybody was asleep, choked on the toothpaste, and coughed white froth into the sink.

"What are you doing?! You wanna kill me!"

"Poor use of investment – no. How was your first day in cram school~?"

Shiro gave him an empty stare, glasses askew and a string of toothpaste-saliva dangling from his lip. Man or demon, how could anyone sound so chirping cheerful at three o'clock in the morning? A second question, formed by some very sleepy part of his mind, knitted his brows:

"Does this mean one of your magic keys goes to the dorm bathroom? On second thought, don't answer." He washed off the toothpaste, splashed water on his face and readjusted his glasses. "My first day? There's a personality test before admitting students, right? The weirder the better, and extra points if you have short temper?"

He turned again to face Faust, only to find that he had seated himself atop the tissue automat next to him; back straight, one leg crossed over the other and hands resting on his knee, a look of barely contained excitement on his face. He looked like a saintly little junior on his first school day, eager to absorb every word from the teacher: that was the kind of rubbish associations Shiro's brain saw fit to connect to the information his eyes supplied. A different part of his mind questioned if any tissue automat in any parallel universe could support that weight; yet another part tried to remember if he'd ever seen a _man_ sit like that before.

"The people who apply to cram school usually are a colourful array. What do you think of them?"

Shiro dug around in his sleep-fogged quagmire of grey matter.

"Agari-chan is dynamite waiting to go off. Stiff, unimaginative, bull-headed and independent." He considered. "But not unreasonable. She'll listen to people she respects. She's a good fighter. And she's got huge boobs." Don't ever try to talk to superiors when tired. Don't talk to _anyone_ when tired. "Kita-san I didn't talk much to, but he seems as if he lives to tick people off. Even if he gets whacked for it. Which he does. A lot. I don't even have to do it myself 'cause everyone thinks he's a dick. Midori-chan is super-cute." No. Shut up. Reset and reload. "She's probably the best fighter, too. Is it common? That half-demons apply to the Academy?"

"Many half-demons become exorcists, for different reasons."

"For different reasons…" Yeah, there sure were many different reasons in his class. "Sen-chan is the one I know least about. She's cute, too." Man, why even care? If you've killed the dog you might as well cook it. "But it's like she's not really there. She did this strange thing today… She summoned a familiar during class, just to break up the chaos and get people to pay attention to what I was saying. Or maybe that's normal?"

"You have your way, I have my way: is there a right way, or merely different ways~?" the demon hummed good-naturedly.

"Right…" Shiro massaged his tired eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Who else? Ryuuji-san. He's a bit on the timid side, but a nice guy. Too nice, he doesn't know how to speak for himself. Another half-demon from the looks of it, but nothing like Midori-chan. He worships you." Faust sniggered happily atop his tissue automat. "Then there's Shizuku-san, who thinks you're a spy sent by Satan."

"Oh, really~?" Rather than extinguish Faust's good mood, the comment painted a smirk on his face that was downright devilish. "And what do _you_ think, Fujimoto-kun~?"

Shiro raised his smarting eyebrows. Was he tired enough to do this? Had enough of his common sense gone to sleep?

"I think you enjoy messing with people's heads." He fished out a cigarette, clamped his teeth around it, clicked open the lighter, and lit it: each act a measured defiance. Not once did he break eye contact. "And I think it annoys the hell out of you when it doesn't work."

"Quite the contrary." The smile grew wider, the eyes narrower: Shiro could have sworn the demon _purred_. "The possibility of failure is the reason for embarking on any enterprise." He took a nimble leap down on the tiled bathroom floor. "And how dreary to put dear Serendipity out of work with flawless plans~ I'm looking forward to hearing more when you are less tired." He touched the brim of his hat. "For now: Träum was Schönes~"

With that, Faust disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.

" _What a clown…_ "

Shiro then realised that he couldn't draw any breath through his cigarette; possibly because it had been replaced with a liquorice pipe. He grumbled and fished around his pocket for a new one, only to find the packet gone. In its place was a note: _Those things will be the death of you. And they stink. – Sir M. Pheles_. And a star.

" _Pff, bite me…_ "


	11. Classmates and teachers

While Shiro did see the strong points of Aria – being armed at all times, able to finish off a demon in one go and so on – he didn't like the idea of being a sitting duck with a neon sign of "kill me!" above his head. He didn't like that his life depended on whether or not he remembered to put an 'O' before 'Lord' in the right place. In the heat of battle he'd rather trust instinct and reflexes.

Having said that to the face of Nao-sensei, or Goggles, as she was called, Shiro was given the honour of memorising ten additional chapters of Jeremiah every week. And while he had it on his tongue to protest, he had to admit that, really, he didn't want to cross that woman.

Goggles-sensei had her nickname from the safety glasses she wore, containing a water solution that kept her from going blind. She had lost eyelids and some other parts of her face in battle, adding a very intimidating look to her scarce height of one-fifty. When she chanted aloud, Shiro could almost believe the rumours that she had once killed a demon with a fatal verse _after_ she had already exorcised it from its host.

"You got any tip on how to memorize all that for next week? I noticed you were good."

"There are ways, but not for you." Kita took the corridor in long strides; almost as if he was trying to outpace Shiro. "Optimising memory capacity takes arduous exercise from early age, preferably with a time limit to mimic in vivo-conditions."

"Okay, so I'll do it the slow, tiresome way. Oi, if you don't slow down I'll trip you." He adjusted his bag mid step, trying to find some way of keeping up without the satchel with _Comprehensive Demonology_ beating the back of his leg purple. "What I really wanted to ask was that thing, what you said about Sir Pheles. You know why he's trusted when other demons aren't?"

"And as I said, it's classified."

"So how come you know?"

Stepping on sore toes was something Shiro greatly enjoyed, especially with people like Kita: he looked like he'd just been hit with a horse apple, glaring back at the thrower with a thin layer of disdain attempting to cover affront. Of course Shiro knew he was from a distinguished bloodline of exorcists; Shizuku had told him. He just wanted to help set those frown lines into permanent wrinkles. If you are a prick, at least make sure people can tell before they make the mistake of addressing you.

"My maternal grandfather is in the Vatican Council. My paternal grandfather works in the Vatican archives, and handles all important proceedings and decisions. They confide certain things, but it stays in the family."

Oh, the way he emphasized family… If this had been back home, Shiro knew exactly what he would have done to that kind of impudent, cocky...

"Isn't that tiresome?" He spoke in casual tones. "Carrying the expectations of a family like that all alone – what if you fail your exams?"

Kita rewarded him the Glance of Scorn. Shiro had to hand it to him, it was good enough for capital letters. Must have taken a lifetime to perfect.

"Unlike you and the others, I've been preparing for this my whole life. The odds of me failing a single exam come in the fifth decimal."

A nice, clean punch to the jaw. Wouldn't take too much force, either. Kita's height would give a perfect angle; enough for the jaw to dislocate, pop back, and be stiff and sore for weeks.

Unfortunately, he needed Kita to be able to speak.

"Of course exams won't be a problem", Shiro replied in honey tones. "It's when it comes to real life combat that the Yaonarus turn tail and hide in their bunkers." Another piece of information Shizuku had kindly shared. Shiro countered the Glance of Scorn with a devastating Smile of Fake Compassion. "It's good that some things stay in the family."

The lanky boy trembled with rage, his mouth a thin line under flaring eyes. While not nearly as satisfying as hitting him, it took the edge off the urge.

" _Too high and mighty to start a common brawl, are you?_ " he thought, corners of his lips curling upwards with feral glee. "Can't even man up against an ordinary human, can y- Wha-?"

Shiro's feet dangled above the floor, a furry claw lifting him by the collar of his uniform. His reflection stared back at him with a startled look as he faced the huge, yellow eye of Sen's familiar. Next to him, Kita found himself in similar predicament.

"You will be late for class", Sen informed, her voice like grass shifting idly in the breeze. She looked like a little moving ornamental doll, all large eyes and outdated hairstyle. Midori, barefooted as always, sauntered over to them and cocked her head with an attentive look. Then she smiled like purling water and nodded.

"Like bickering magpies indeed~" She gave them each an amused look. "She would bite your tails if you had any, goblin says. Is what you do with little naughty goblins." She cocked her head again, ears tuning in on some unheard sound from behind. "Is Agari-san, methinks. Don't let her catch you fighting, hm~?" She winked. "See you in class!"

Sen's goblin disappeared with a muffled bang. Sen herself followed Midori, walking right past as if they weren't even there. Kita didn't spare Shiro even a glance, but strode ahead at fast pace. Shiro leaned against the wall, tucking a cigarette between his teeth and shoving his hands in his pockets.

So, Kita aimed to become a paragon exorcist? Not much motive to sabotage the school there. Although he'd just scratched the surface, Shiro didn't think Kita was the type to do something like that: he was the all-talk type that he had a deep, fundamental dislike for. If one _really_ pushed the point, it would be more of Kita's style to have some henchman or henchmen to do the dirty work for him. Then again: motive? None that he could see.

True enough, Agari turned the corner only moments after the others had left. Several meters behind was Ryuuji, walking like someone with a gun held to his back.

"Oi." He nodded an informal greeting. "Why do you look like you've shit yourself?"

At first Agari seemed about to retort, then she spun around. Ryuuji froze like a deer.

"Go on." Agari motioned for him to walk. "I don't like having people walking behind me."

The thought of having Agari walking behind him gave Ryuuji's face an almost visible hue of green.

"Try smiling, Agari-chan." Shiro chuckled despite Ryuuji's silent pleas for help. "You could scare off demons with that stern face."

* * *

Tamer class was led by a short, jovial man who presented himself as Futotsuki Itsuhito.

"Tamers are quite different from other exorcists", he began in a rich, startling baritone. He produced a piece of chalk and started drawing in long, meticulous strokes. "Ours is the gentlest, and the cruellest way of fighting. Cruel, because we subjugate another being to do our bidding against its will: gentle, because most demons will rather withdraw than fight and harm one of their own – unless, of course, they have strict orders from one of the demon lords." Futotsuki-sensei's voice became sombre. "In that case, they will fight to the death. Subjugating a demon requires strong spirit, and strong blood; only one of the two won't be enough. In a class of seven, two at most will be attending Tamer class again. In this class three, since one of you is a Futotsuki." He mirrored the strange, disconnected smile Sen wore. "I want you to take a piece of paper from the stack here on the table, and draw the figure I have drawn on the floor. Be careful. The lines of a summoning circle require the same precision as the words and inflection of Aria chanting. I will demonstrate how it's done. First, an offering of blood." Futotsuki-sensei made a swift cut in his forearm, flicking blood down on the circle. "Then you speak the words that come to mind. Let that which is hidden be clear; let that which sleeps awake; illuminated by the flame that burns without scorching!"

The air in the room seemed to tighten in cramp, drawing towards the circle as of a giant sucking in breath. It swirled and whipped and condensed, until the ghostly shape of a great lizard had formed. Its eyes were burning coals, its tongue a thread of flame: the rest of the body was a thorny, rippling mass of oily smoke and glowing fire.

"This is a salamander, a demon of fire", Futotsuki-sensei said, regarding the creature as one looks at a dog or cat. "It is a powerful ally if faced with insect demons, plant demons or rot demons. But however powerful the familiar, they can all be expelled with a single stroke of a finger." Futotsuki-sensei kneeled and drew one finger across a chalk line, and the moment the circle was broken the salamander disappeared. "Demons are spirits, you see. In the physical world of Assiah, they are like fish on dry land. They can only come here if they shield their essence in a material object, as in possession, or are granted entry to our world through a summoning circle." He gestured towards the figure on the floor. "It is, in essence, a very weak gateway to Gehenna. Have you finished your circles? Good."

Ryuuji didn't succeed in summoning anything, which wasn't unexpected. It pleased Shiro very much to see that Kita failed. He wasn't surprised to see that Agari summoned a large, blue-scaled snake demon: the only one surprised seemed to be Agari herself. Taking one look at the coiled snake, its head reared up to look back at her, she tore the paper in half and expelled it.

"Very good, Katsuda-chan! The naga are prince Amaimon's subjects, fierce and protective. Keeping a naga familiar brings long life."

Shizuku and Midori tried, but summoned nothing. Shiro pricked his finger and stained the paper red. The first thing that came to mind, huh?

"Lend me power to take on all the opportunities of life."

The beating of mighty wings rushed through the room: before Shiro landed a bird the size of a small pony, its head and claws those of a dog, its feathers all the colours of the rainbow. It folded its wings gently over a peacock tail, regarding him with eyes the shade of time.

"Well, I didn't expect to be that accurate in my estimations", Futotsuki-sensei chortled. "This is a shahrokh. A spirit of air, associated with fertility. Stronger than she looks, too."

"She?" Shiro was still struggling with the fact that he had summoned anything at all. He actually had an aptitude for this…?

"Why yes: all shahrokhs are female. Kohu needs to drill you harder, dear Pages. So, three Tamers this year." Futotsuki-sensei scratched the scarce stubble on his chin, still smiling. "That's a good litter, it is. The rest of you, I'm afraid, will only be joining us for drawing seals and wards."

"Futotsuki-sensei", Agari looked like she was standing to attention, except for the eyes that were fixed on Futotsuki-sensei's feet. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have no intention of meistering in Tamer. Could I also come for seals and wards, and only that?"

"Hah? Well, if you really don't want to… Do remember that being Tamer is a unique experience, Katsuda-chan. It's a gift few have, and I would encourage you not to throw away the opportunity. Ultimately, of course, the choice is yours."

At the end of class, Shiro shuffled over to the little man.

"Futotsuki-sensei…" Shiro wasn't used to hearing his voice sound so hesitant. "If I tear the paper, can I summon her again?"

He hoped he was pulling the right strings. Unless his ears had been completely malfunctioning, Futotsuki-sensei might have interesting things to say if stroked the right way. Getting on his good side was step one, getting him to talk more about demons step two.

The smile the exorcist gave him was almost fatherly.

"Tell her to leave and she will: keep the paper and you can summon her again, any time you like, so long as your mind is set on it."

"You have a very peaceful familiar, Shiro-kun." Sen was admiring the vibrant plumage with ginger fingers. "Nothing like you at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he grimaced.

"Shiro-kun has the will of earth, the mind of water and the heart of fire: and yet his familiar is of air. How is that, uncle?" She trained her big, unseeing eyes on Futotsuki-sensei.

"I don't know, Sen. He has the makings of an excellent Tamer, though", he said, smiling. He then glanced at Shiro as if that was a statement of deep importance. "I never say that in class, because it is Futotsuki philosophy and not Vatican policy, but there is one thing as important as strong blood and strong spirit in a Tamer: strong compassion." He strode over to the bird-dog that still sat, unmoving, and watched them with serene eyes. Their faces were almost level. Gently, almost reverently, he laid a hand on the demon's cheek. "The familiar mirrors the Tamer, to a certain extent. The Vatican doesn't acknowledge that, because that would be to say that man and demon are not so different. I don't think we are, personally. You can tell her that she can leave until you call again, Fujimoto-kun."

"You can go now, if you want. I'll call for you if I need you. Uh, and thank you for coming."

The shahrokh spread its wings gracefully, and in one powerful beat it was gone. Shiro folded the summoning circle neatly and tucked it away in an inside pocket.

"The truth is that nobody knows, of course", Futotsuki-sensei resumed in lighter tones. "But it doesn't hurt to look at things from more than one side. Now, I'll be teaching those hopeless second-year Tamers in a minute, so I have to ask you to leave. Don't hesitate to come by and talk, though. I'm always eager to hear how my little niece is faring – and how her classmates fare with her. Good bye!"


	12. The die is cast

"You'll have to excuse, in an old man like me hearing isn't what it used to be: what did you say about my glasses…?"

The first-year boy squirmed on the ground to get his face out of the dirt. Shiro sat on his back, feet planted firmly on both sides of the boy's head, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Your glasses loog gool!" he said through a swollen, bleeding nose.

"Damn right they do: so why did you say they look stupid?"

"I- I did't!"

"I don't really think you're hearing what I'm saying here." Shiro plucked the smoke from his lips and tapped the ash off into the boy's upturned ear. He whined and thrashed, turning to make it fall out. Shiro shoved him facedown into the ground with his foot. "I heard you saying you'd break my stupid-looking glasses. Right?"

"…yes."

"And what did I say I would do, if you called my glasses stupid-looking?"

"You- you'd burd by eyebrows off…"

"Exactly. But I can't do that while you're eating dirt. So", he drew a breath on the cigarette, "you will get up and be a good boy and stand very still, or I might burn off more than I intended. Are we good with that?"

The boy nodded silently. When he got up, dusting his ruined shirt off, he was actually crying.

" _Wimp_ ", Shiro thought whilst playing with his lighter. " _All words and no guts._ " He flicked the ignition. "See, this is the main difference between me and people like you: I don't make promises I don't intend to keep. Or threats."

* * *

Nobody opened when he knocked on the double doors of Faust's office. That was very odd, since Faust was the one who had set the time forthe meeting. Shiro fiddled with a cigarette, put it between his teeth and tried the handle. Finding that the door wasn't locked, he entered. A lime-green curl peeked up from behind the backrest of a heavy European-style couch.

"Oi, I'm here."

"Yes, and horribly bad-mannered too. Take a seat."

Shiro plopped down in an armchair that was _not_ as soft as it looked. Faust lounged in his couch – lounged in the sense the word should be used. He looked like he not only owned the world, but had his own private swimming pool annexed on the moon.

"'Busy with work', you said. You don't look too busy."

"Looks are deceptive, and some things are more important than work~"

"Like _that_?"

" _That_ is culture, young man." Faust pointed a bishop pawn at the tv-screen with a flick of his wrist. "It nurtures the soul, cultivates the mind, relieves the dreariness of everyday life." He put the pawn down on the chessboard, then turned the whole thing around to play the black. "And, of course, watching the French suffer is a pleasure in its own right."

"It's a show for kids!" Shiro laughed.

"It's about life and death, love and war! And it's got masked heroes!" Faust's indignant sulk was priceless. "The subtlety of true art is beyond the grasp of primitive monkeys like you." And with that, he crossed his arms and returned to analyzing his one-man-chess-game. Meanwhile, the tip of his curl vibrated like a tuning fork.

" _Demon prince my ass_ ", Shiro laughed silently in his throat. " _He's more of a kid than I am. What a quirk…_ " The screen was entered by a sword-wielding blonde girl in a very revealing bodysuit. "On second thought, this might be worth watching."

"Might? Shiro-kun, if there is anything worth watching, it's French women with swords. Without even intending to, they become the very essence of womankind – the feline allure, the elegance, the _fire!_ " He positively bounced on the seat as the blonde girl launched into a passionate speech, fencing sword brandished. "She's no Oscar-sama, but until they make anime out of Berusayu no Bara~ I hope they make an anime. They have to. It's too good not to", he hummed with a happy grin. "Oh Nadine, so fair and so valiant: what will you choose when matters are taken to the edge~?"

With some very detailed and very enthusiastic summarizing from Faust, Shiro got really into the story. As the scores rolled, he made a mental note to book the tv in the dorm common room to watch the next episode.

"Check mate, white wins. Again." Faust sighed at the board. "And I thought I had myself this time… So! How are you doing?" he hummed, treating himself to a colourful sweet from a bowl containing mostly wrapping paper.

"Haven't gotten very far, but as I see it there's two possible reasons for breaking the barrier." The cigarette lolled up and down between his teeth. "Demons have an interest in doing it, for obvious reasons, but they can't get inside in the first place unless the wards are destroyed. So a human did it. Probably not to have the school overrun by demons, though. The only people who would do this kind of thing are the ones who want you to look bad in the Vatican's eyes. There seem to be quite a few of them", he added, eyebrows rising. "In Tamer class it hit me there could be another category: humans who view demons as misunderstood monsters and don't want them killed. What really sucks is that this gives us reason to suspect both demon-haters and demon-lovers, which narrows it down to just about everyone." Shiro dug his little finger into his ear, trying to reach an itch. "What I'd do is-"

"Eins, zwei, drei."

A tissue box poofed into existence, hovering right under Shiro's nose. What was he supposed to do with that…?

"I can't abide uncleanliness", Faust enlightened, the curl on his head twitching disapprovingly as he glowered at the finger in Shiro's ear.

"Oh fine. Anyway- Ouch! What the-aaaah!" Just as he tossed the crumpled tissue on the table, sharp pain stung his leg. Something black and white, button-eyes glowing with malice, had bit into his trouser leg. "What the hell is that?!" He frantically shook the thing off and pulled both legs up in the armchair. On the floor, the panda-shaped wastebasket bounced up and down, chewing air, its hinges creaking menacingly. Shiro stared at Faust in wide-eyed disbelief. "Just what the hell- Why do you keep creepy-ass things like that?"

The lexical definition of smugness rested its head in its hand, pondering its reply with a pleasant look of amusement.

"What? You don't think it's cute, Shiro-kun?"

"Cute?" He glowered at the fiendish wastebasket, shuffling his feet even further from the chair's edge. "What part of getting your leg bit off  
is cute?"

"A bit on the dramatic side, are we? I'm sure it's just a love-bite~"

"I don't care what it is! I want the damn thing to get the hell away from me!"

"Now now, that is no way of speaking to a familiar." Faust cocked his head. "I received word from Futotsuki-san, by the way. Congratulations~ Would you summon your familiar for me?"

"If you get that _thing_ off me."

"Tsk tsk, you got him onto you in the first place. Feed him and he will leave you be."

Shiro tossed the crumpled tissue to the wastebasket, which devoured it viciously. Once the offending object was gone, it seemed content. He produced the summoning circle from his pocket and reached, for the fiftyleventh time, for the switchblade he no longer carried.

"Allow me~" Faust pulled off one lavender glove, tugging one finger at a time in the fashion of bygone days, and...

" _How does that even...?_ " There was no way his gloves could fit over those nails. " _Claws_ ", he corrected himself. " _Humans have nails._ "

Faust's predator-version of nails were a dark, almost black hue of purple, and sharp as scalpels.

"That", Shiro said with emphasis, "is even creepier than the wastebasket." He leaned forward and pressed a fingertip against the claw, calling his familiar.

For a moment, the two demons sat stock-still. Faust blinked. Then he broke out laughing. The shahrokh's long ears drooped, her head lowering self-consciously.

"My my…" He stroked his goatee, glancing at the chessboard he had repositioned for a new round. His grin gained company from the same strange, mesmerized glimmer Shiro had seen in his eyes the day he signed Faust's contract. "Indeed…"

"Indeed what? There something special about summoning a shahrokh?"

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't..." He picked up the white castle, turning it over with an absentminded grin. "Before chess, all games relied on chance alone. Strategy, mathematics, scheme - whatever the words, what chess really is is man's attempt to overcome chance: to have control, if only within the confines of a game board, over your fate." Faust set the castle down. "A useless pastime indeed~" He lifted the king with sharp claws, studying it with an eerie smile. "No game of tactics is worth playing without that unseen participant, the elusive Lady Chance. And now she invites us to a game~" He put the king back – and swatted down all the pawns on the board. "And play we shall!" He rose and snapped his fingers with a maniac grin, adding top hat and cape to his outfit. He tugged the glove back on, and with a flourish he offered a corner of his cape to Shiro. "Hold on tight, boy. One of the wards has been disturbed."

When you don't understand a thing, play along.

* * *

Travelling by means of magic keys was fine; travelling by means of magic alone was not. Shiro felt like he was stretched out, like a rubber band, and then bounded back with a snap that scrambled all sense of up and down and directions of less importance. It was a bit like fitting one's foot halfway into the shoe and walking like that, except it was his body that didn't really fit. With a second poof and more pink smoke, Faust assumed the form of the white dog. He trotted along at surprising speed, Shiro tight on his heels.

They left the privacy of the laundry-drying alley they had appeared in, navigating between rows and rows of sheets and clothes on lines, out to the night market. Though only evening yet, shops were being set up and the streets were filling up. The smells and sounds soon enveloped Shiro, as the atmosphere of a proper night market does. Lanterns of all colours rivalled over the people milling about, cast rippling pearl necklaces on the surface of the pond the market was set around, and occasionally made ghostly veils out of the steam of octopus balls sizzling or sea snails boiling. The yells of hawkers mixed with merry haggling between regular vendors and regular visitors, and from further away rose the sing-song storytelling of a biwa: all gathered into a murmuring choir of night by the cicadas in the trees.

Shiro had loved the night market since the day he learnt there was such a thing held in True Cross Town. He used to go there with Yasuda and Fuji all the time, and when they tired he went alone. He never bought anything, save for oden. His favourite came from a food cart between a yakisoba food cart and a stand selling cheap jewellery: he didn't have to place an order there anymore, only show his face. Then he would walk up and down the market and let it soak into him, watching, listening, smelling, remembering…

No time for that. Faust steamed ahead like a little wind-up toy, weaving elegantly between feet and stray pond ducks, while Shiro had to fight for every step in the throng. He caught up with the dog by a small Shinto shrine at the pond shore.

"Take it off."

"You can talk in that form? That's… weird."

Shiro sat down on his haunches, pushed the shide aside and found, stuck to the ceiling of the little shrine, a torn ward with faint traces of black at the edges of the tear. He peeled it off as gingerly as he could and held it out to the dog. A dog's face is very difficult to read for the untrained eye, but Shiro was quite sure the look was unimpressed.

"What would I do with that?"

Shiro grew somewhat puzzled.

"Tracking…? Don't dogs have good noses?"

"I'b allergic."

Now that he said it, the bags under his eyes seemed heavier, and a steady stream trickled from his nose. Shiro's bewilderment did not decrease.

"To what?"

"I told you: udcleadlidess."

Shiro buried his face in his hand, shaking with muffled laughter. True, summer heat had not been kind to the offerings of fish, vegetables and sake at the shrine…

"Very fuddy", the dog moped. "Lift off that rope, I'll be back shortly."

Moments later, Faust returned in human form from behind the vendor's stand. He attached a new ward to the ceiling, blew his nose, and rattled off a short incantation in a foreign language. He rose, and Shiro put back the rope with the shide.

"Subbod your fabiliar." He blew his nose again. "She might pick up the trail."

She did. They ploughed through the masses a lot easier this time, Faust's appearance both startling and well-known among the people of True Cross Town. Above, invisible to the eyes of ordinary humans, glided the shimmering shape of the shahrokh; each time she beat her wings, gusts rushed along the street and set the lantern light swaying in dizzying ways. To Shiro, they appeared to rock in slow motion. His body tingled with anticipation, drawing his heightened attention this way and that, until he felt the market around him as he felt the clothes on his skin.

The biwa performance came to an unorthodox end with a yelp and a thump. When they got there, a curious shahrokh was shooed and shoved away from the instrument by-

"Ryuuji-san…?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **Shahrokh** is a demon, but it is also Farsi for a chess manoeuver. It has yet another meaning, derived from said chess manoeuver: it means "great opportunity" or "great gamble".
> 
> **As I've understood it,** night markets aren't really native in Japan, but I took the liberty of placing one in True Cross Town (blaming it on Chinese immigrants...?). They're just so damn cosy. =3
> 
> **Biwa** is a traditional instrument of the lute family.
> 
> **Shide:** I had to look this one up... =P It's the name of the (usually) zig-zag papers one finds on Shinto shrines (though my first memory of them is from a comatose Inuyasha).
> 
> **Timeline guesses**  
>  I have tried to estimate when in time Blue Exorcist is set, to have a fair idea of what animes Mephisto will be into at this point in time.
> 
> § Mephisto is inspired by Goethe's Faust, and if we take the date of (the first proper) release of the first part of the opera manuscript (1808) as the date of his entrance into the Order's service, and add the 200 years he has worked for them, we land around 2008 at the start of the manga.  
> § In the Impure King arc, Saburota Todo dates the defeat of the Impure King to the fifth year of the Ansei period, which is year 1858 in modern counting: this was 150 years ago, so 2008 seems about accurate.  
> § I cross-referenced these dates with the Jump SQ. magazine (first issue released 2007) Rin reads on p. 132 of volume 1, checking the release years of the series mentioned on the cover (Kure-nai 2007, Tegami Bachi 2006, Claymore 2001, Binbo-gami ga! 2008). There is another manga name on that magazine, New Prince of Tennis, which came out in 2009: however, it seems like this title doesn't appear in all translations of Blue Exorcist, so I'm torn. 8/ Blue Exorcist itself was released in 2009, so I'm chancing that 2009 is the most likely date.  
> § Shiro was 51 at the time of his death, which occurred shortly before Yukio and Rin started their first high school term. The school year in Japan starts in April, so I'm guessing Shiro would have turned 52 that year since his birthday is May 10th. If Shiro turned 52 in 2009 then he was born 1957 (same as my mother, lol). 
> 
> Shiro is in his third year in high school, which makes him 18 - thus, **the current year here is 1975** according to my timeline. The anime they're watching is _La Seine no Hoshi_.


	13. Night market

"Shiro-san! Oh, thank the gods you're here! Tell your familiar to-" Ryuuji tripped over his own foot and fell like logwood with the biwa in hand. He realized his situation almost too late, twisted to land on his back, and nearly knocked his teeth out with the head of the instrument when he succeeded.

"Sir Pheles!" He scrambled to his feet with the elegance of an upturned beetle. "It's-s an honour to meet you, sir!" He bowed deep, almost losing his grip on the lute, and held on to it so tightly Shiro could hear the wooden neck creak ominously.

"A pleasure, Karegawa Ryuuji-kun~ I came looking for a Shinto shrine here in the night market district, but Fujimoto-kun doesn't seem to be of any help." He tilted his head with a smile that was the calm warmth heralding a thunderstorm. "You don't happen to know where it is?"

"Oh I do, sir! I left shinsen there this very morning. Come, I'll show you, sir."

They followed the ecstatic icebreaker that was Ryuuji back the way they had come.

"Oi", Shiro whispered from the corner of his mouth. "I don't think it's him. He's too ham-fisted for a scheme like this."

"Is he always like this?"

Shiro gave it a moment's thought.

"When he's nervous, yeah. So he could be our guy. Possibly. But I don't think he is." And what if he was? Looks are deceptive, Ryuuji's even more so. For all he knew, he could be the one putting the Academy in danger. And if it was Ryuuji, what would happen to him? Shiro smiled darkly at what he had said at that first P.E. class. Anyone not prepared to put his or her life on the line shouldn't come to True Cross Academy. A nice phrase. Never thought of the other ways in which it might apply.

"He could be a good actor: tanuki usually are", Faust mused quietly.

"He's half tanuki? How can you tell?"

The demon gave him a lewd smile.

"What is the most prominent feature of a tanuki, Shiro-kun~?"

Shiro found himself in that awkward state between laughter and chagrin. Unable to look at either Ryuuji or Faust, he took to scrutinising the trinkets in the market stands.

"…you pervert."

"And let he who is without sin cast the first stone~" he chuckled merrily.

Ryuuji couldn't even babble as he usually did when he was nervous. He waited for them at the shrine in a daze of bliss, smiling with his whole face and doing probably irreparable damage to his biwa's neck.

"I didn't know you played", Shiro said, trying his best to look at Ryuuji's face and nowhere else.

"Oh, I always have!"

And then he launched into a list of the instruments he played, the instruments he owned, and the instruments he hoped to own. In addition to the biwa he had a shamisen, a sho, a hichiriki, several ryuteki, and the pride of his collection: a tonkori, one of the few existing ones outside of Ainu communities. Shiro could not believe this guy would sabotage the barrier unless by accident.

"Hm~? What's this?" Faust picked up the torn ward and turned it over. "Was this here before, Ryuuji-kun?"

Ryuuji's features were the image of befuddled innocence. So perfect it was almost unnatural…

"I don't think so, sir."

Shiro caught Faust studying Ryuuji's face intently.

"I have had complaints about Academy students littering in town. Do let me know if you see somebody leaving these around, yes?"

"I'll keep my eyes peeled, sir!" Ryuuji failed a salute and whacked his temple with the biwa.

"Splendid~" he grinned. "If there is anything else you can help me with, I will let you know. Auf Wiedersehen~" And with that, he disappeared.

Ryuuji slumped gracelessly to the ground.

"Wow…" He clutched the unhappy biwa to his chest, eyes glittering brighter than the lantern light on the pond. "I've met him…"

"You gonna buy him chocolate and ask him out?" Shiro quirked an eyebrow. "Not that it's my business, but I think he's a little old for you."

Ryuuji's mortified mien had Shiro laughing until he cried.

"I was so, so blown away. I mean, _him_ , _there_ …! And he probably heard me play, too!" Ryuuji kept going it over in his head as they made their way back to the academy premises. "Too bad I ruined the biwa… It's not- I mean, I have another one at home, but this was a gift from my mother."

"Is she… gone?"

"Oh, no. No, she's not."

"So your dad's the demon, then?"

"Um, yeah… It's not like I've ever met him, but…"

"I'm not gonna ask your whole family history, you know", Shiro assured with a relaxed grin. "I'm just curious. Midori-chan is a half-demon, anyone can tell that – but with you I wouldn't have known if Kohu-sensei hadn't said it on that first day. Sure, you're freakishly strong, but you definitely look human."

"I do, but… uh… not really…" He fiddled self-consciously with the crumpled neck of the instrument. "My father was a tanuki who disguised himself as my father – or, well, as my mother's husband – while he was on a business trip." Despite his physical size, Ryuuji looked very small. "Mother wanted father to think I was his, so she cut off my tail and my ears when I was a baby." Seeing that Shiro automatically looked at his ears, Ryuuji pushed his hair a bit to the side. His ears looked normal, if one disregarded the uneven rounding and the absence of the fleshy outer rim. "Well, _she_ didn't do it, she couldn't. They grew back again when she did, so she went to a miko for help. She had my teeth filed down, too. That's the only part I can remember, because I was older then." A shiver pulled over him. "It hurt."

"That's a horrible bloody thing to do to a kid", Shiro growled, chewing the filter of his cigarette to mush. "She should've stood for what she'd done, not let you take the consequences. She didn't even do anything wrong 's far as I'm concerned. She thought the tanuki was her husband, right?"

"Well… maybe she was scared. I know I would've been." He gave the tiniest of smiles. "My brother is brave, though. Half-brother, that is. He just charges ahead and… and does things. Like you."

"Pff, I'm not brave." Shiro sent a pebble clattering along the street. "Reckless, that's what I am. I get myself and other people into shit all the time." He spat out the ruined smoke. "But I sure as hell wouldn't cut the ears off a baby."

* * *

Back in the dorm, Shiro was wary of every shadow when he made his way down to the bathrooms. He opened every toilet door to be absolutely certain nobody was hiding there. He chose the basin at the end of the room, and brushed his teeth with his back against the wall so that nothing could sneak up on him. He'd looked up Auf Wiedersehen, and it meant 'see you again'.

There was nobody waiting for him when he went back out in the corridor. Rather than relaxing, he strained eyes and ears to every little sound, real or imagined. Moving as quietly as he could, he entered the room he shared with Fuji and Yasuda and slowly, ever so slowly closed the door, taking care to inch the handle back up to avoid the mechanism clicking.

"Guten Abend~"

Shiro spun around to a smirking face mere centimeters from his. He stumbled backwards, and the not-entirely-closed door dumped his weight out on the corridor floor.

"Goddammit, why do you do that?" he hissed, picking himself up.

The demon in the almost luminescent white costume tilted his head, face hidden in shadow.

"You didn't seem to enjoy talking in the bathroom, so~"

"Look, we can talk anywhere, just don't sneak up on me like that! Jesus…" he whispered, running a hand through his hair to gain time for his heart to thump down out of his throat. "Could you gather anything from Ryuuji-san?"

"If he lies, he's good." Faust unwrapped a sweet from his pocked and plopped it into his mouth. "I like your idea about chocolate, by the way~ Côte-d'Or is my favourite."

Shiro face-palmed with a groan.

"Can you at least tell me beforehand when you're going to spy on-"

"Shiro-san?" Fuji's bed lamp lit up, showing something that was either a head or a gravely disfigured porcupine. "Who're you talking to…?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **The founder of Côte-d'Or** so happens to be named Charles Neuhaus. =P I couldn't resist.
> 
> You know what a tanuki's most prominent feature is, don't you? Google it otherwise, the results are quite funny (especially Studio Ghibli's).


	14. Charms

"Wow, how do you do that?" Ryuuji stared in awe at Shiro's target practice sheet.

"Gut feeling?" He shrugged, taking off the ear protectors; they made the frames of his glasses cut painfully into his head. "I used to do a lot of airgun shooting in Mepphy Land, and in games in the arcades."

"You should go for Dragoon, Shiro-san." Ryuuji gave a shy smile. "I heard Ando-sensei say so." He nodded discreetly in the direction of their Dragoon instructor.

Ando-sensei looked plain. There was no better way to describe him, really. He was the kind of man you forgot the moment you took your eyes off him, and Shiro was quite sure he would have forgotten about him altogether if it hadn't been for the way Ando-sensei walked: he strode with long steps, as if he was always in a hurry to get somewhere, and it made him bob up and down with each step like some kind of buoy. How exactly Ryuuji had overheard what he said was a mystery, though, as Ando-sensei was standing a good thirty meters away in discussion with Kohu-sensei.

"I don't think I'm the only one he'd want for Dragoon", Shiro observed.

A few booths away, Agari was putting her sheet through ruthless mastectomy. Her full lips pursed in concentration. A strand of raven hair had escaped the bun and hung – quite becoming – by her ear and curled slightly. Every sharp rebound of the gun bobbed through her breasts…

"Yer not gonna defeat any demons by drooling, Shiro-san."

"If you still had anything down there after Kita-san got you, you'd drool too."

Shizuku barked a good-natured laughter. He had helped himself to a shotgun from the rack of practice weapons, and with all those piercings he looked like a veritable gang leader.

"I'm tryin' ta leave my earthly desires behind here! Now, if _you_ 've got anything up _there_ ", he tapped Shiro on the head with an ammo pack, "ye'll stay on her good side. Someone has to. Tame the wild-cat, o great leader." And with that he sauntered on down the aisle to his own booth, shotgun slung over his shoulder and whistling out of tune.

* * *

"Good aim, good punch, good looks: what haven't you got?" Shiro seated himself next to Agari with a winning smile and peered at her clea- lunchbox. "You cook, too?"

It had been difficult to locate Agari during lunch - in fact it was pure luck that he had spotted her through the windows of the crowded school cafeteria where all the rich brats were eating. She had been headed in an entirely different direction.

"Yes. …do you want some?"

Yes would have been the polite answer, but at some point politeness has to give way for survival instinct. When you can't tell if food is boiled, fried or raw, that point is way passed.

"I've already eaten", he ensured. "Thanks anyway. So... why are you sitting here and not in the cafeteria?"

"The cafeteria is too noisy." Her eyes wandered over the poplars and the gnarled old fruit-trees, the grass and weeds that peeked up furtively in the pavement of the lowered square: that special nook in every park that keeps to itself, like the first brown, curled-up leaf in autumn. "I'm used to dining in silence."

If that was a hint, Shiro was determined to blatantly ignore it.

"I'm used to being shorter than my best friend – doesn't mean I like being short." He fished out a smoke. "Want one?"

"No."

" _The looks of a model, the charm of a bucket…_ " Shiro cupped the tiny flame of the lighter and lit the cigarette. "So what do you do for fun?" What's with that blank stare? Surely even an uptight soldier-librarian must do fun stuff sometimes… "Me, I go to Mepphy Land with my friends, or hang out in the arcade. Sometimes we go to the hot pools, and we never miss the night market. What do you do?"

"I read."

"Yeah? I-" He wondered for a brief moment if the magazines he read could be called literature, then quickly discarded the idea. "I don't read much. Would you recommend me something?"

"The Holy Bible."

Oh. Well, True Cross Academy was _technically_ affiliated with the Vatican, and _officially_ a school with Roman Catholic roots. In practice? In practice Agari might even constitute the entire student body of actual Catholics. But hey, it's quality that counts, not quantity: and the quality of that body was _really_ good.

"That doesn't sound like my kind of literature."

"The word of the Lord is needed most where it isn't heard."

Shiro quirked an eyebrow.

"Does that uniform come with a rod in the back? And I mean literally. You sit like a komainu on guard."

"I wasn't reared to slack and slouch and smoke cigarettes", she returned coolly. Yeah, she definitely liked to dine in silence. "I'm here to fight in the name of God, and to bring death to his adversaries. Do you believe in God, Shiro-kun?"

"Should I?" he smiled around the cigarette. "I don't need God to kill demons, just a good gun."

"Then you shouldn't call yourself an exorcist, but a mercenary." Agari dismissively plucked a piece of something that might once have been food out of her lunch box and ate it.

"Oi, stop being so dead serious about things", he grimaced. "It's enough to make a guy queasy. Look, in practical terms anyone who gets rid of demons is an exorcist, and anyone who does is doing a good thing whether there's faith involved or not."

"You speak heresies in a Catholic school." If Agari's gaze grew any colder Shiro would have to dust frost off his cigarette. "I thought better of you."

To that, he laughed. Oh, this girl! Did she realize how hilarious she was? No, not at all. Agari's face was positively white with rage, and how wonderful she looked~

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm not a good person by any standards." He flashed a wolfish grin as he struck another nail in the coffin: "I'm still going to make one hell of an exorcist, though."

"Being an exorcist is about more than aim and strength of body, Fujimoto Shiro", she hissed between clenched teeth. "It takes strength of soul. Strength to resist the evil temptations Satan plagues the heart with. Strength granted only by the Lord to those who praise His name."

"Yeah? The Lord dishes out His fair share of temptation too, judging by the size of your-"

With a sharp whack, Agari's hand left a burning mark on his cheek.

"Scum!" Her lunchbox spilled its contents on the ground, and her other arm closed protectively over her breasts. "Those unclean thoughts of yours are the kind of thing demons feed on! And you would call yourself an exorcist, when you've already fallen to their temptations?"

Eyes and thoughts effectively diverted from Agari, Shiro realised that there had been witnesses to this embarrassment. And the worst witness thinkable: Midori's red hair added a late flower to the top of a pear tree, where she was passing fruit down to a softly smiling Sen.

"Eyoo, Agari-san, Shiro-kun~! Come see what Shizuku-kun is doing?" Midori waved vigorously at them from her tree branch.

Shiro made a move to pick up Agari's lunchbox, but she caught his wrist and swatted it away.

"What keeps you? Don't you hear the demons' calling?" she said, not even hiding the scorn in her smile. The more beautiful the face, the more striking the hostility in it.

Shiro didn't bother to say goodbye. He set off towards Midori and Sen, inwardly cursing at himself. Nice job figuring out Agari, it would be so much easier now that she hated him.

" _I just can't keep my mouth shut…_ " Things usually worked out anyway, when you were around people who knew how to bite back: when you weren't, you ended up being slapped in the face. There is no reasoning with people who have no sense of humour.

"Is not what they call 'smooth', yes~?" Midori said when she jumped down, soundlessly, laughter dancing in her eyes like sunlight on water. "Can't write calligraphy with a broomstick, you know?" She hefted a stack of chunky, medium-sized branches from the ground.

"Yeah…" He rubbed his stinging cheek, a hesitant smile forming. She'd heard everything, hadn't she? Half-demons had heightened senses, right…? "She's more tightly knit than I thought."

"No", Midori declared with a wink. "You _didn't_ think, Shiro-kun. Fun to you but not to her – is not the way to win a woman. No loss, methinks: she isn't right for you."

Shiro was so absorbed in listening to her voice that he barely heard what she said. That kind of odd cadence would have been attractive if it hadn't reminded him of Faust. Still, how could anyone be that cute?

"Shizuku-kun requested pear-wood for his omamori", said Sen airily. "He said he would make me a gakugyo joju if I got him the material."

They walked leisurely towards the Academy's main building. It was one of those sweltering late-summer days when people stayed where the air condition was, except some brave souls who sat outside with fans in the shade.

"I could use a gakugyo, too", Shiro thought aloud. "Do you know what you will be Meistering in after Esquire?"

"Tamer. And Aria", Sen replied, eating her pear in small nibbles.

"Double offensive or offensive and defensive." Shiro nodded to himself. "What about you, Midori-chan?"

"Doctor and Knight."

"Is everyone Meistering in two? I thought that was optional…"

"Is, but people who come here have – what do you call it? Strong will for goal?"

"Ambition", Sen helped with a warm smile. "The students here have strong ambition. Too strong, at times."

"What would you Meister in, Shiro-kun~?"

"I don't know. Not Aria, that's for sure. I haven't tried Knight yet. Futotsuki-sensei wants me for Tamer, and Ando-sensei is pushing for Dragoon. I think I'd do well in both…" In all honesty, Shiro didn't know if he would be around long enough to Meister in anything. It all depended on how fast he could wheedle out who was responsible for the sabotaging.

* * *

Shizuku sat under a fig tree, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation. Beside him lay a leather bundle and an incense burner that looked like it had travelled around the world and a little farther.

"'ello, little Buddha~ Shiro-kun wonders if he could get a love charm?"

"Wha-! The evil demon is weaving lies, Shizuku-san." A statement that only made Midori laugh, but that was okay; it made her even prettier.

"That so?" Shizuku opened one eye. "She give ya that thing in ye' face, too?"

"Oh no~" Midori grinned. "That's Agari-san trying to rid him of impure thoughts~"

Shizuku laughed his loud, unrestrained laugh when Midori related, with mimicry that made even Shiro laugh, his failed courtship of Agari.

"Well, ya deserved it. Beating's the only known cure for stupidity", Shizuku chuckled as he unwrapped the bundle. "Ye didn't have to bring a whole tree, Midori-chan. There's enough wood here for all of you. Sen-chan wants a gakugyo – what about you?"

"Kaiun for me", Midori smiled, rocking back and forth on her bare feet.

Shiro thought for a moment.

"What do you wear?"

"These." Shizuku pointed to the piercings in his ears, eyebrows and nose. His other hand selected a whittling knife from an array of differently-sized, differently-shaped woodwork tools. "A special kind for my family. Peddling henro, people call us." He deftly cleared the bark off the wood, smoothing the corners of the little tablet with expert strokes. "We travel all directions, trading amulets and services for food and accommodation. The ones I wear are inscribed for a combination o' luck, protection and avoidance of evil." He picked up another tool without even having to look, setting to inscribe the prayer with a delicate hand-chisel. "I don't have any for protection from idiocy, sorry."

"That I could tell by listening", Shiro enlightened with a crooked smile. "Can you make amulets for other things? Like repelling demons?"

"Yup." He blew tiny peels of moist green wood from the first two characters in the prayer. Midori drew a deep, humming breath through her  
nose and seemed to enjoy the smell of it.

"So you could make, say, a barrier of wards around a place?"

"As long as there's somethin' to attach the wards to, yeah. A rope or a fence or something that goes 'round the whole perimeter. For small  
things a piece o' string will do."

"Does there have to be a rope or fence? What if you just put wards all around a place?"

"Then yer building a wall full o' holes, and things'll get through."

Shiro scratched his nose, trying to come up with a good way of asking without seeming too specific. Midori had taken off to climb the fig tree, weaving swiftly back and forth between branches. Sen had taken to picking flowers in the shade, selecting her colours according to some pattern he couldn't grasp.

"I was told there was a ward that worked that way, but it could be bull. It looked something like this." Using his finger, Shiro drew an approximate image of the symbol on the paper-slip wards in his palm.

Shizuku kept looking at his palm. Then he looked up at Shiro.

"That's all? Definitely bull. That's not gonna ward off anything." He went back to carving and didn't see the look that crossed Shiro's face.

"Any idea what it could be?"

"Something used ta trick shorties with glasses", Shizuku grinned. "I'm told they fall fer it every time."

"Have you got an amulet that wards off smartasses? I could use one."

"It's called fist-to-the-face. I see ye've already got one."

It takes a perfect day, with good laughs and pretty girls, for a dark cloud to dominate the sky however small it is. Shiro listened and joked by proxy, his thoughts busy with one thing alone: if Faust's wards weren't wards, what the hell were they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> **Komainu** are the guarding lions outside gates of shrines, temples and such. I'm thinking of that very straight-backed variety, obviously.
> 
>  **Omamori** are the little tablets inscribed with prayers to help/protect the bearer. Usually wrapped up in a little bag (that you are not supposed to open), so I guess Shizuku keeps such in a pocket somewhere...
> 
>  **Gakugyo joju** is an omamori for students and scholars, aid in education and passing exams.
> 
>  **Kaiun** is also an omamori, for "open luck" (whatever that means - had a hard time finding out specifics in this area. There is supposed to be a blessing ritual involved, to imbue the omamori with spirit, but I couldn't find how it was done, so...).
> 
>  **Henro** means pilgrim. Here I use it for the kind of, well, "travelling monk peddlers" I made up. They came off a bit like the travelling, multi-talented craftsmen that have gone extinct in modern-day Sweden.


	15. Late night

Shiro had smoked his way through almost a whole packet, unsuccessfully trying to gas the milling thoughts to death. Nights were good for thinking. This was a bright, clear one, ridden by the first hint of autumn chill. He'd tiptoed outside in the small hours, after poring over _Comprehensive Demonology for the 20th Century_ until his eyes were no more than dry, smarting slits. There was no ward that matched the ones Faust had put all over the place. There was nothing even remotely like it in any of the chapters on symbols. And there was no way nobody else was aware of this: the school was full of exorcists, dammit – at least the teachers had to know! But nobody was raising questions about it, so it had to be okay. Right…?

And yet, the most convenient way of handling an inconvenient matter is to look the other way and remain silent. On the surface things will be normal, and underneath the cracks will grow and spread, until everything shatters: nothing is as destructive as neglect. Would people act like that, even in a place like True Cross? Oh yes. Matters might be complicated, but human nature is simple.

He flicked the cigarette away half-smoked and started walking. He walked in his mind at first: hands in his pockets, head down, stride rushed towards no goal. Then he walked with his mind: pace slowing down to a stroll, eyes tracing thoughts that chased each other across a landscape unseen. And then, eventually, he walked: one foot in front of the other, taking note of the sleeping streets and the softly breathing houses that inhabited them. Long nights of studying and double schedules at school was wearing on him, he knew that. And yet there were so many questions to be answered.

There were at least two players at work in this game: one who placed the so-called wards and one who dismantled them. A smile tugged the corner of Shiro's mouth as he thought of Faust's chessboard. Two players, one known; the question was who played white and who played black. Was the unknown saboteur actually _protecting_ the Academy, by interfering with some obscure plan Faust had going? Or was Faust protecting the Academy in some way he couldn't understand…?

" _Well, good luck getting any straight answers out of him._ " Shiro's feet had, like migrating birds called by instinct, led him to the night market. It was a pool of light in the sleeping city, just down the slope from where he had stopped. He really wasn't in the mood for it. " _I'll see where this goes._ "

He left the lane to follow the creek that fed water to the pond. The forest felt more appropriate than bright lights and noisy crowds. There were memories walking in those market streets that he didn't want to meet right now.

Nights _are_ good for thinking; too good, sometimes, when the lonely rays of starlight reach down to illuminate the murkiest recesses of the mind. Once memories have spotted you, they have a tendency to follow at one's heels. Leaving the light behind and disappearing into the dark, as he had done once before… What had he been? Eleven? Eleven, and mad at the whole world. Mad at his parents for not doing anything: mad at himself, for not being able to do anything. He had done the only thing he could: he'd told the truth. Did that magically make things better? No. Like when his toy towers toppled, trying to catch the falling figures only resulted in toys flying all over the floor. The tower toppled all the same.

Shiro walked harder, disturbing frogs and stumbling over fallen branches he could have avoided. Like a man running from his own shadow. He'd run from one life, then another, and he still claimed he wasn't a runner…? He smiled sardonically at himself, stopping in the middle of an upward hill. The purling of the water and the chirping of insects pierced through his consciousness, yanking him back to the world outside his head. A breeze touched his back, as of unseen things catching up to him.

" _There's nothing there._ " He turned halfway around, glancing back the way he'd come at the desolate forest. " _There's nothing to run from. Nobody here knows me. The past only exists in my head, and I really should let go._ " Should, the mind says; but the heart wants differently. Shiro was still disappointed, still angry, and anger is a weed with roots that bury deep.

"Fighting our inner demons, are we?"

He flinched, eyes darting at shadows in the rising evening mist. He had thought he was alone, had been _sure_ he was alone...

"Who said that?"

"I did."

The speaker was a shape standing atop the hill, vaguely outlined in the grey.

"Who are you?"

"A monk taking a shortcut." He waddled down the slope, careful not to slip in the leaves with his sandals. A short, middle-aged man with glasses, nothing out of the ordinary except completely out of place in a forest at night. "And you are a young man with a troubled mind. That look on your face can't be mistaken. Some general advice for you, son: deal with the present and it won't come chasing after you later. But that's general advice", the monk smiled. "For more specific advice I'd need you to tell me about the troubles you have."

"They're already in the past. Nothing I can do about it." Shiro didn't know what to think. The whole situation was like something taken out of a film and didn't make sense in real life. Just who was this guy...?

"Time is the greatest of illusions, young man. In here", he tapped a finger to his temple, "there is no time. If anything in here causes you trouble, you can always do something about it."

"Can't bring back the dead."

"But that's not what you want, either", the monk smiled knowingly. "It's not their deaths that upset you; it's the way they lived. What a ruthless boy, not even mourning your own parents."

"Shut up! How do you even-" A sudden burning sensation bit into his thigh. The monk fell back a step, and the eyes behind the glasses flared yellow.

" _Shit!_ " Shiro threw himself aside and rolled to his feet, narrowly escaping the monk's next grapple. He reached for the switchb- " _Oh fuck it!_ "

The monk's nose had grown into a beak. Unfolding huge, black wings, he lunged faster than Shiro could react and buried clawed fingers in his shoulders. The ground fell away beneath his feet. Foliage rustled in protest as they gained altitude, tearing up into the sky.

Shiro pulled out the thing his fingers had found where the switchblade used to be: the summoning circle. Smearing blood from his shoulder on it, he called for the shahrokh. The world jerked violently, claws digging almost to the bone when he was swung to the side: he caught a glimpse of a muzzle full of fangs buried in the tengu's wing. Then his vision disappeared with a gasp of pain, as the demon let go with one claw to counter the shahrokh. Shiro's intestines lurched up his abdomen: they were falling.

"Oi, some of us can't fly!" he shouted, not really reflecting over whether he could get the point across to his familiar or not.

They struck a tree, and he grasped desperately for a branch, skinning his fingers on the bark. The tengu croaked furiously and kicked away from the tree with its legs, its claws gauging trenches in his shoulder. Then…

" _The branches…?_ "

The branches reached out and grabbed him, twirling shoots around his leg and up his torso. The shahrokh clamped its jaws around the demon's neck, tugging and shaking as if it were a bite toy. The tengu let go of him and tore at the other demon with both hands as they pivoted for the ground in a mess of feathers and fabric. Shiro grabbed any branch and twig he could reach and held on for dear life.

" _Holy fucking shit and six drunk fishermen…_ " The moment of breathing space opened the floodgate, and all the terror he hadn't had time for surged through his veins. He trembled, breath fluttering, heartbeat thundering in his ears like the war drums on a battleship. " _Oh shit, oh god… I'm alive... I'm alive..._ "

"Eyoo, Shiro-kun: you okay?"

His eyes snapped open. On the ground below there was the black body of the tengu, dissolving into dark miasma that mixed with the fog and dissipated. There was the multi-coloured shape of the shahrokh, and there was the dusk-dimmed red splotch that had Midori's voice.

"Can you see my glasses anywhere?"

People in strange situations tend to focus on mundane things: it makes them feel better. To Shiro, his state of wellbeing was in direct correlation to the condition of his glasses.

"I tell her to go find them. You can let go, I will catch you." The colourful shape trotted off, the vaguely red splotch remained. Shiro had no idea how far up he was. Around him, the twigs had lost all sense of time and sported little budding spring leaves.

"I can't really see without my glasses."

"I see fine – you let go."

" _I might break something, but I'm dropping into the arms of a cute girl, I'm dropping into the arms of a cute girl, I'm dropping into the arms of a cute gi-_ " Shiro's eyebrows knitted. " _What's she doing out here in the middle of ni-_ "

And then the branch broke.

Midori absorbed the shock as much as possible by bending her knees as she caught him bridal style. She staggered backwards a step but remained on her feet.

"Your breasts look so soft…"

Shiro had meant to say _thank you_ , but was sidetracked by the fact that Midori wasn't wearing any shirt. Or bra. Or, for that matter, skirt or underwear.

"They are. You expect them to be hard, like cartilage?" her eyebrows rose in confusion.

"Er, no, of course not… I just…" Awkward. Naked classmate. Who wasn't bothered by being seen naked. Who made _him_ out to be the weird one for thinking breasts were made of cartilage. "Okay, I don't understand shit. Why are you here? And why are you naked?"

"I don't like water from pipes – smells like metal. I wash here", she nodded at the creek. "Very nice swim hole upstream. Clothes I wear because humans do, and Sir Pheles says I must. Why is Shiro-kun here?"

Lovely skin, like cream milk, not a mark on her…

"I, eh… I just wanted to see where the creek led."

"In night, where humans don't see their own nose?" Midori tittered and started to walk, carrying him as if he were no heavier than an armful of flowers. "Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun~ I will clean wounds for you, or you will go to sleep and wake tomorrow like calving water buffalo."

Shiro couldn't really grasp what she meant by that, but the prospect of being undressed and tended by a cute girl who didn't mind being naked… It was almost worth being torn to shreds by a tengu.

"Thank you."

Midori set him down on the crisp carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor. There was a dip in the creek there, creating a little pool just deep enough to bathe in. White and black clots, which he assumed were Midori's clothes, were strewn on a rocky outcropping on the other side of the swim hole.

"You welcome, Shiro-kun."

She unbuttoned his costume and the remains of his shirt, inching them off gingerly where they stuck to the wounds. Shiro glanced at them once, then quickly returned his eyes to a nicer view. Midori was of slender build, every line and curve of her body soft to the eyes. He couldn't see very well, but there was definitely a tail trailing behind her when she bent to wet cloth for washing. It was soaked and the fur limp with water, but it seemed to be the same colour as her hair. And probably as fluffy as a fox' when it was dry. Shiro _really_ wanted to touch it and see if it was - and her breasts, damn! They looked like they would fit perfectly in his cupped hands – small, but firm and rounded like-

"Bloody hell!" he hissed as she washed off blood with a shred of his shirt. The water was icy cold. "How do you bathe in that?"

"I always have~ Is you humans who have strange habits. Warm water makes body soft – cold water, hard. But not here", she added, a mischievous smile dancing on her face as her free hand cupped her breast.

Heat shot from his groin and knotted his bowels. Dammit. If he could only move his arms, he would have seduced her there and then. Shiro closed his eyes to prevent certain… embarrassing situations from arising. That, however, left the field open to imagination, and imagination is the greatest temptress on earth.

"Uaaah! Why did you do that?!"

Cold water trickled down his forehead and neck, cutting his breath to hitching gasps.

"Cooling your head", she smiled unabashedly. "You look different without glasses. I see why tengu come for you: you have a demon's look in your eyes. Strong heart. Dark thoughts." Her smile softened into something that could have been sadness. "Be careful, Shiro-kun. A human like you can draw bad attention. I bind you now, and then I wash her." Her golden eyes moved to something behind Shiro. "Look, she found your glasses~"

Midori bound his wounds with more torn shirt and put the uniform jacket over his shoulders before she helped him put his glasses back on. Grace of the crusty carpet of yesteryear's leaves they hadn't been damaged at all.

" _I wonder how she knew…_ " He cast a furtive glance down at his trousers. " _I know I didn't show…_ "

He looked back at Midori, who was cleaning the shahrokh's wounds with the same gentle care. Would anyone go to these lengths just for a bath? At night? He certainly had noticed that Midori wasn't like other people, and not only because she was a half-demon. But under that outcropping rock behind her…

" _Is that why you're really here, Midori-chan?_ "

The upper half of a torn paper ward hung listlessly from the stone surface.

Shiro pretended to sleep while Midori carried him back to the Academy. Well, he was going to, and then he fell asleep for real.

Midori shook him awake on the doorstep to his dorm. She said something, smiled, and left. He was going to thank her, but by the time he'd put the words together in his head she was out of sight. He considered lying down in the porch for a brief moment. God, he was tired. If he could just close his eyes for a while… The pain grew more and more intense and forced him to sober up, to the point where he was awake enough to admit that sleeping in the porch would be a very bad short-term solution. Teeth clenched, he searched his pocket for the key.

He found the omamori Shizuku had made him, for protection against evil. The charm had broken in half and burnt through the little textile bag. Shiro made a mental note to thank Shizuku and forced his aching muscles into a new dig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caught my partner's 16-year-old brother believing that female breasts consist of cartilage. I will never let him live that down. x3


	16. Waking up

Absolute blackness.

That was all Shiro could remember. When he opened his eyes, he knew there had been no dreams, no moving in his sleep, no transitory semi-consciousness between sleeping and waking up. Just black emptiness. He felt like a bag of rice. Heavy. Immobile. A slogging sack of minced meat.

He turned towards the bed table where he kept his glasses, his head lolling limply to the side accompanied by a tearing pain in his shoulder. Where the hell was his bed table…?

Shiro reached for the obscure shape of his glasses on an entirely different table. It was so easy in his head: in reality, his hand lay on the duvet like a dead fish.

" _Move, dammit…!_ "

He had no memory of becoming paralyzed. He remembered the fall, but Midori had caught him. He was quite sure she had; he remembered her breasts. She had washed him and… carried him… Shiro screwed his eyes shut, groaning, trying to remember. He could move his forefinger a little bit. It moved in slow motion, rearing like a snail's neck, but at least it moved. He bent his arm at the elbow guided by vision alone and tried to peel the duvet off: it was an awful thing, not feeling the limb he was moving. The index finger curled feebly, hooking into the edge of the cover and slipping off it. He repeated his efforts twice, but he didn't have enough strength or control to pick up a feather.

" _Oh come on…_ "

He had been drugged, evidently, but to lose control over his body like this… was humiliating. Jaw set, he willed his feet to move. He couldn't feel them, but saw slight movement in the duvet where he approximated his feet to be. A royal purple, silken duvet. On a king-sized bed, Wester style with four posters and drapes.

" _Oh no._ " He grimaced. Of all the places to go, he'd gone here… " _Oh hell no…_ "

Driven by sheer bullheadedness he inched the numb lead-poles that were his legs to the side. They bent at the knee as they went over the edge of the bed, his bare feet landing on slick, cool stone.

" _Okay, time to get up. I can do it._ " He drew in breath, and twisted around. Facedown in the pillow, he swore a passionate length about demons in general and tengus in particular. Burning fangs in his shoulders, aching boils in the bones inside them, _fuck that damn tengu!_ Shiro's breath wheezed out between clenched teeth. " _Atta boy, you dumb shit. Up…_ " He dragged his wobbly legs into position, gradually lifting his torso from the bed. The back seemed to be one of few things in his body that still worked. He staggered a bit, his foggy brain telling him that the room tilted while his eyes, though myopic, were quite sure it didn't. " _Whoa. Whatever they gave me, I'm not having it again. Ever._ "

Getting his glasses was another lengthy process. He had gained control over three fingers now – thumb, index and middle finger – but was still too weak to lift anything heavier than a toothpick.

Shiro clumsily jammed the glasses between his useless hands, lifted them as high as he could for the shoulders, and craned his neck down. He bit around one sidepiece and opened it, then the other; blazing fireworks shot through the muscles connecting neck to shoulders. Holding his breath, he forced hands and head together and fit the glasses onto his nose.

Oh yes. Any lingering doubts of whose bedroom this was vanished at the sight of pink and polka-dotted ribbons tying drapes of creamy white silk to the bed-posters. It was a bedroom like something out of a porno. A Renaissance era porno featuring Marie Antoinette and every royalty in Europe.

" _Who puts a mirror like that in a bedroom?_ " Shiro thought at the wall opposite the bed, which was one huge mirror in a gilded frame of swirling leaves and frilly carvings. It gave a clear full-view of the bed, and mental pictures of Faust that he would have been better off without.

The floor was chequered black-and-white, made with the finest Rajasthani marble, and every white tile was encircled with mosaic handcrafted by the very descendants of the artisans who built Taj Mahal. A giant gold chandelier hung in the ceiling, in such a position that it showcased the most unique property of said mosaic: it is semi-translucent.

" _Well, I broke into the right office. He's disgustingly ri-_ " And that's when Shiro caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes widened, with the muscles surrounding them twitching erratically. " _I'm… I'm… WHAT THE HELL AM I WEARING?!_ "

Sleeping in that clown's bed was enough to make him want to wash in lye, but sleeping in _his freaking clothes_ …! Shiro looked around desperately for something to replace the cherry blossom-pink, garishly patterned yukata with, but that only made him reel groggily into a bed poster. His clothes weren't there – naturally, they had been in quite a sorry state. The only other alternative was the gaudy duvet, which wouldn't be that much of an improvement, really.

"Oh my, our patient's awake!" The lone door at the end of the room opened, revealing a short, blonde woman in a kimono with intricate flower motifs. She smiled at him, and it was a smile so motherly he got a lump in his throat. "Don't worry, young man. We have looked after you as best we could, and your body is handling the rest just fine. Sweetie, will you go tell Sir Pheles the boy is awake?" she said to a girl who must be her daughter. She nodded and disappeared.

"How are you feeling, young man?" she asked, padding over to him with small steps and a gentle smile. She was the kind of woman who ages like the immortality peaches in the Jade Emperor's garden, growing more sweet and tender as time passes. "Some feel nauseous from morphine. Giving you that wasn't my idea, but the exorcist Doctor didn't want to leave you in pain."

"No, I feel fine", he slurred. "'Cept I can't move."

"Nor should you", she admonished, guiding him back in bed with calloused worker's hands. "We couldn't get a sensible word out of you when you came in yesternight, so I treated your wounds in the most general way. What kind of demon were you attacked by?"

"A tengu." And after a moment's consideration: "Ma'am." He wasn't sure why he added that. This woman was so small, so gentle, and yet there was something in her that inspired respect.

"Oh, silly me! I'm Moriyama Mayu: I own the gardens and the shop that supply exorcists. Sayuri is my daughter. And you are Fujimoto Shiro", she smiled. "You were lucky after all: tengu wounds need no more treatment than fresh bandages and a little herb salves to speed up the healing. Now, let's pull this down a bit so we don't ruin Sir Pheles' clothes…"

" _So it is his…_ " Shiro had nurtured some sliver of hope that it might be Moriyama-san's, though he admitted she was far too short for it.

The wounds had been stitched, but had reopened with his efforts to get out of the bed he now sat on. Moriyama-san decided that it wasn't all that bad, and wrapped him into new bandages with a strong tang of herbs. It was nice. Quite the opposite of his experience yesterday: being treated in agonizing ways by a beautiful girl, and now being treated gently by a woman who could have been his moth- Shiro cut his foggy thoughts short there. Morphine, huh? Made both body and mind treacherous.

Sayuri returned, and Shiro wished his pink yukata would go up in flames. Never mind that he was still in it, he'd rather be dead than wearing that stupid thing in front of a hot girl. Sayuri was probably a year or two younger than he was, but a full-grown woman in every aspect.

"How lovely to see you again, Mayu-chan. I can't thank you enough for coming over at such inconvenient hours." Faust made a grand entrance with billowing cape, swept his top hat off and took Moriyama-san's hand, bowing down to kiss it but halting himself just before his lips touched her skin.

"It's always a pleasure, Sir Pheles", she smiled. "But you have to admit I'm a bit old to be called -chan."

"Good memories never age~ We have known each other a little too long for you to call me by surname, haven't we? Please, indulge me on this one."

"You truly haven't aged a day, Mephisto-sama", Moriyama-san chuckled merrily. "Not in body and not in mind, you rascal."

"Mom…" Sayuri said reproachfully, glowering at her. She looked like she wanted to go up in flames, too.

"Sweetie, widows past forty are grateful for what attention they can get. And Mephisto-sama knows how to treat a lady." She glanced knowingly at him, mirth curling at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sure many ladies know that, too."

"In a garden full of flowers fair, whoever does not cherish them all is unworthy of such treasure~" he declaimed, a mischievous smirk adorning his features.

Sayuri huffed and folded her arms, making it no secret that she disapproved of his theatrics.

"Oh, that reminds me: you are welcome down to visit my garden anytime. I have new fresh herbs for that tea you like. Now, I think we will be retiring for the night." Moriyama-san bowed gracefully. "You should get some sleep as well. You work yourself too hard."

This time, Shiro huffed.

"No rest for the wicked, is what they say~ Träum was Schönes, Mayu-san, Sayuri-chan."

Moriyama-san fitted a magic key in the lock, and the two of them disappeared with a good night-wish.

"You _are_ a pervert", Shiro concluded, knowing in the back of his head that he wouldn't be saying this if he had been, well, sober.

"It's a mutually beneficial exchange, Shiro-kun. Women want to be adored, and I adore women." He snapped his fingers, and a chair came gliding to him.

"You're flirting with a mother right in front of her daughter." He tried to make a reproachful gesture, but his muscles failed. "That's like breaking the laws of gravity. You just don't do that."

"Quite the hypocrite you are, given how you looked at Sayuri-chan. Give it a few more years and I will flirt with both mother and daughter~" He folded himself into the chair, leaving his hat on the bedside table. Then he scowled, as if Shiro had said something offensive, but it turned out that wasn't what bothered him: "I should have picked a purple one for you: pink doesn't go with your hair. So!" He clapped his hands together and shifted a bright grin onto his face. "What honour do I owe to having you stumble into my office in the midst of night, bleeding and delirious?" he inquired before Shiro could give him a piece of his mind about pink and purple.

"I was taking a night walk, I went into the forest, and I got attacked by a tengu", he summarized, seizing the words in flight. "And Midori-chan was there: bathing right were a ward was torn. So that's both our half-demons at the scene of the crime, but neither caught red-handed." He wished he could have a smoke, but suspected he would drop it in his lap. Or light it in the wrong end. "They don't seem to have any motive, but I don't know much about Midori-chan."

"Sakura Midori~" Faust's voice curled around the name as if it were a caramel. "I remember her name on the applicants' list. An exorcist named Yana Megumi was sent to dispose of her seven years ago." A serene expression, that was in no way appropriate for what he'd said, settled on his face. "She was demoted for insubordination and stripped of her privilege to teach at the academy. But she kept the child, and turned a feral orphan into that truly charming young lady who may or may not be involved in this troublesome business." He tilted his head, resting his cheek on the back of his hand while his fingers played leisurely with the gilded chain to his exorcist badge. "Megumi-san was killed in line of duty last year. If Midori-chan blames me for that, she might find reason for something like this~" Shiro didn't know why Faust was smiling, but decided that being annoyed by it would only improve his mood. His outlooks in a battle of wits weren't that impressive at the moment anyway.

"If she knows you wanted to kill her and killed her mom that would be a pretty strong motivation, yeah. Is there anything else I should know about the people here?"

Faust was gloriously unperturbed by the hint.

"The Futotsuki are notorious troublemakers. Very kind-hearted people, and very unreliable for support in the field – poor Nao-san used to be quite a beauty, you know~" Even then, he didn't stop smiling. "Not to mention how difficult it is to hold personnel meetings when one teacher wants to tear the guts out of another… Then there is the Todo family, which is in constant rivalry with the Yaonaru family, in everything: ancestry, money, number of exorcists and their ranks, number of people serving in Vatican headquarters – it wouldn't surprise me if they kept count of how many demons each family has slain. To be sure, saving the academy from a demon invasion would be a grand feather in the cap for whichever family rescues us all~"

Shiro's heart sank deeper in his chest with each word. He'd thought this would be easy, like breaking in, grabbing what you wanted and get out. Not so. Everybody had motives if you looked hard enough – and Faust was well aware of that.

"I have a few other questions", Shiro said. "When did this all start? The sabotage business?"

"This semester, the day your class arrived. That is why lessons were postponed one week for you."

"So it should be one of the other six…" Shiro pushed his glasses further up his nose, trying to at least look like he could think. "Unless it's a family thing. There must be other Yaonarus in the senior classes, right? And there is more than one Futotsuki. Family members could be working together…" He groaned. "And Ryuuji-san has an older brother here." He glanced at Faust. "You can tell where and when the wards are destroyed, right? If you could keep tabs on that, we might see patterns. It might even be possible for me to camp out at some hotspot and catch whoever-it-is."

"Even now you cause me extra paper work", he sighed, a dejected look on his face. "I shall start taking notes, then." With a poof, a burgundy reservoir pen appeared between his fingers.

"I have one more question. No, two. Can I get a new uniform?"

"I have ordered one for you already." A pointed look. "But you're paying for it."

"What? Isn't there some insurance to cover that?"

"All students pay for their uniforms; you are no exception."

"And do all students almost get killed while doing work for their principal?" he huffed.

That. That look of profound disinterest in any argument Shiro could come up with was as exquisite as Fuji's look of cluelessness. Masterful. Pity he was at the receiving end of it.

"Dying is a valid excuse for not paying: almost dying is not."

"But you're rich!"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

Shiro had a good mind to smack the clown in the face, but with his system full of morphine he was more likely to end up sprawling on the floor.

"Your other question~?" Faust inquired, smiling as if he'd read Shiro's mind.

"Yeah." He moved his arms as demonstratively as he could. "I'm assuming this is yours?"

"It is. Finest Chinese silk, dyed with bingata techniques by the Shiroma family~"

" _Much more affordable than a school uniform, no doubt…_ " Shiro thought. "Alright, but why on earth would you buy a women's yukata?"

"Why, they come in nicer colours~"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  I'm imagining Shiemi's mother was quite the looker when she was young, and probably granny-Moriyama too. 
> 
> **Real gentlemen** don't kiss a lady's hand, I learnt. They just _almost_ do it.
> 
>  **Bingata** is an intricate technique for dyeing fabric, developed in the Ryukyu kingdom in Okinawa around 14th century. Highly prized in the courts. WWII put an end to the production, until it was revived again by the Shiroma family. Today I think only three families remain that make these things.


	17. Playing games

Shiro was not good at staying bedridden. Moriyama-san and Faust had at some point decided that it would be good for him to rest at least until his new uniform had arrived, which would be approximately one more day. One agonizingly long day.

It was fine as long as he could sleep, even if it was the empty, dreamless sleep of morphine: but once the drug was out of his system, his patience was out with it. And he really, really wanted a cigarette.

Shiro slunk out of the bedroom. The principal was at work, all the time in the world to figure out where he'd stashed the smokes…

Shiro had visited many houses and apartments, for reasons best left untold. They all looked more or less the same: bedroom, kitchen and bathroom in various degrees of tidiness or neglect. Larger places might have a dining room or common room. Really fancy places could have – what did they call 'em? – parlors and rooms-that-didn't-really-have-any-purpose-save-for-serving-as-decoration. _No_ house he'd been to had had a private library.

Heavy bookshelves dressed the walls and paraded back-to-back in rows in the room, which was easily the size of the school library. Every shelf was so packed with magazines it virtually rested its sunken middle on top of the magazines on the shelf below. Shiro padded along the aisle, tatami mats rustling softly under his feet, and gawked left and right at the largest collection of books he'd ever seen. For a collection it was. Shonen Magazine, Shonen Jump, Shonen Sunday, Shonen Sunday Deluxe, Bokura Magazine, Shonen Champion, Shukan Manga Action – every single volume of all the leading manga magazi- What? Magaretto? Shoujo Club…? Shiro adjusted his glasses and checked the cover backs again. Ribon. Nakayoshi. Shoujo Comic, Shoujo Friend, Princess… _Girls'_ magazines.

" _And women's yukatas..._ "

Shiro had a merry time imagining what other quirks True Cross Academy's principal might be hiding, and made a mental note to exploit them all ruthlessly unless he found his cigarettes within the next ten minutes.

The far end of the room was dominated by double shoji doors patterned with cranes and pines. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he slid one of them open. _More_ shelves, these containing manga volumes. And figurines. Tetsuwan Atom and Doraemon, Kamen Rider, Cutie Honey, Princess Knight, Lupin III, Black Jack – this wasn't a library, it was a manga museum. And further in, the books were replaced by videotapes: complete collections of Kagaku Ninjatai Gatchaman, Majokko Megu-chan…

" _All this crap and he can't pay for one single school uniform_ ", Shiro fumed, trudging ahead between the neat rows _._

Shiro did find the packet eventually, along with his keys, lighter, summoning circle and a few crumpled yen notes: all neatly laid out on a table next to a bowl of sweets. It was the first room that actually looked like an inhabitable room. Although the furniture consisted of a reading chair, a small table, and a hideous, pink table lamp made in the same fashion as Faust's umbrella, at least it wasn't a storage room for collectibles. As the other six rooms had been.

Two sad cigarettes were left. Shiro lit one and sucked a gratifying breath, admiring the view of True Cross town through the high window. Nothing quite like a cigarette to bring his head around. Some smoke for pleasure, some for impression: Shiro was quite happy to let people think he belonged to either category. Sure, he'd taken up the habit for impression's sake. But the thing with addiction is that when your body develops a craving for one thing, it takes your mind off another – a bit like children being tricked to think of the brightly coloured stickers instead of the drill at the dentist's.

" _I really should stop thinking of you._ " He drew another breath, let the smoke waft slowly upwards. " _You don't deserve to be remembered._ " And yet loose images continued to surface from time to time. Okaa-san cooking, the smell of her special daikon oden humming promises in every room. Otou-san shaving what little beard growth he had in the bathroom mirror, using that fluffy foam Shiro had once swallowed and gone to hospital for.

In retrospect it was like watching a film of the perfect family, and that pissed him off even more. All that pretence, the fake smiles, the charade…

Shiro drew another breath of smoke, obliterating the bitter taste in his mouth, clouding smells and images he didn't want to remember. So, Faust had an unhealthy obsession with manga and anime? And toys. Shiro allowed the chortle to grow into full-blown laughter, remembering the sixth room – or was it the fifth? – which had been stacked so full of plushies one could barely walk through it. Demon Prince? Yeah, sorry, one too many pink bunny for that. Why would a Prince stoop to running errands for the Vatican anyway? No, Shiro had begun to think that the name Mephistopheles was missing from the list of Demon Princes because there was no Prince Mephistopheles. He was likelier to be a nameless, high-ranking demon noble with a knack for messing with peoples' heads. Shiro had read about the Princes and what they were capable of: earthquakes, tsunamis, plague and such. The most impressive thing he'd ever seen Faust do was turning into a dog; not a fearsome hellhound, but the kind that was approximately vicious enough to chew one's shoelaces off if you didn't pay attention.

There had been something more than plushies in that room, though. Something Shiro found he just couldn't resist with a whole day of nothing ahead of him.

Several hours later, the doors slid open with a rattling whack.

"It _stinks_ ", Faust grumbled, glowering at Shiro with a handkerchief covering his nose. "And why aren't you in bed?"

"It got boring", Shiro replied, surrounded by magazines, empty snack bags and cups of instant ramen. He'd been greatly surprised that such a fancy kitchen had nothing but junk food on the shelves. "But you've got a really cool house."

"That smells of cigarette smoke!" He tossed a square of perfectly folded clothes at Shiro, who caught them on reflex. "That's 46 886 yen."

"Yeah, about that…" He put the uniform down and assumed his best business face. "Would you mind if I pay that off on a monthly basis?"

"Yes. I would."

"Look, I have to be able to attend school if I'm going to help you in this. Isn't there any scholarship or something that I can apply for?"

"Scholarships go to prodigies", Faust said dryly, placing his free hand on his hip. "And they aren't granted to students with less than one year left."

Shiro bit his tongue, thinking. He didn't exactly have anyone he could borrow from. Stealing wasn't an option. Selling a kidney wasn't too tempting either. Maybe if he didn't eat for a few weeks…

"How about…" He glanced at the cabinet he still had one hand on. Jesus, it was far-fetched… "If I can beat you at this, you pay for my uniform?"

Faust raised an eyebrow at the Midway arcade game, one of many adorning the walls in the plushie-room.

"And if I win, you quit smoking."

What? Shiro gawked. Really? He didn't accept mortgage payment, but he was willing to bet the money in an arcade game challenge? What ridiculous kind of reasoning was that?

"Best of three, then." He inserted the coin he'd reused for the past hours with an incredulous grin. He'd never gotten himself out of a pinch so easily.

* * *

"You're not winning this, you little pest…!" Faust growled, eyes narrowed at the screen.

"You're going down", Shiro grunted, tip of his tongue between his teeth, sweaty palms slipping on the joysticks. "Nobody can win with pink controllers."

"Stop hiding behind that cactus and I'll show you how to win with pink controllers."

"As if you could hit me anyway… Hah! 4-4! Gaining on you!"

"The smoke stinging in my nose is a bit distracting."

"Oi, I've got both shoulders torn off: you have nothing to say."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Yeah? Killing you is pretty satisfying, too. Ouch, dammit…"

"I have to agree, it is pretty satisfying~"

Shiro had played _Gun Fight_ in the arcade many times, and he knew he was good. His little pixel-cowboy had shot Faust's dead almost ten times during the first round. Then, aided by grave hubris on Shiro's side, Faust had mangled him to a sieve in round two. Now they were past underestimating the opponent, and each put everything he had into the game. Shiro tried not to think about the stakes. He didn't know which would be worse, giving up the cigarettes or finding some way of raising forty-six grand. He liked having two kidneys.

The timer for the third round ticked down to 0. Shiro's shoulders were about to fall off, but it was worth it. It was worth every clenched muscle and drop of sweat to see a grown man – a demon – sulking like a grounded kid.

"Fine. I pay the uniform. But you're _not_ smoking in my house."

"Don't worry, I'm out", Shiro smiled sweetly and picked up his prize. "I'll go change into these. Thanks for the game."

* * *

It took a while to change. Actually, changing wasn't the main problem, even with his injuries: Shiro wasn't used to the tie. True, he wore one every day, but it had the same knot Yasuda had tied for him sometime in the first month of his first year. After much cursing he decided he could just as well go without tie.

"Don't know how to do a tie~?" Faust inquired when he came back from changing.

"Couldn't reach up, my shoulders are too stiff", he defended, picking up the cups and snack bags. "I left the yukata on the bed."

Faust merely tapped his pointy ear.

"These aren't just for show, you know. Come over here, I'll show you how it's done."

Shiro glowered at the smiling demon, feeding the trash to the wastebasket panda. Whatever. He did win the uniform.

"I've been gone two days", Shiro spoke while Faust tugged his collar up and slung the tie around his neck. "Haven't Yasuda-san and Fuji-san asked for me?"

"They have been informed in very vague phrasing that you were sent to hospital on short notice."

"Huh. Why weren't I? Don't they treat mashou at hospitals here?"

"They do, but none is better than Mayu-chan. She wanted you to stop by and let her have a look in a few days. I shall get one of the older students to take you there. Do fetch my tea while you're at it~"

"What am I, your errand boy?"

"No, you're too impudent for that. There." He smoothed the collar down over the tie.

Blame it on lack of smokes, or the way Faust made final adjustments to a tie that was already perfectly adjusted, but Shiro's mind jumped back ten years then. His mother had knelt before him, making sure his uniform looked impeccable before she walked him to the school bus stop. She would kiss him on the forehead and ruffle his hair, that unruly bird's nest he'd gotten from his father. And then she'd wait until the bus was out of sight, until she'd shrunk to a tiny black dot in the distance.

"Hm~? What's with that look?"

"You really should sleep more", was the first thing that came to Shiro's mind. This close up, the bags under the principal's eyes did not look healthy.

"Well, my bed was occupied."

"Oh. Sorry. But…" He'd had that bed for two nights; Faust couldn't possibly have been awake that whole time. "Where did you sleep?"

"In someone else's bed, obviously~" he smirked. "Now, where should I drop you off?" He fished out a metal ring with numerous magical keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  Did you know most currency histories only go back twenty years? I couldn't find what value the yen had in the 70's, so the school uniform is estimated according to prizing and exchange rate of contemporary Japan.


	18. Girls

For the first time in his eighteen years of life, Shiro enjoyed studying: that in itself was as amazing as having a space-warping key in his pocket and a demon principal to report to. Not to misunderstand: his course books in maths and English and all that still lay in a sad pile on the dorm room floor. Mathematics just didn't make sense. Beyond calculating what to pay at the grocery store and in rent, what use did one have for it? He wasn't going to construct bridges or spacecraft (though he had thought about that last one when he was a kid) or calculate the locations and angles for deep-sea oil drilling.

Exorcism, on the other hand… Exorcism made sense. Demonology, demon ecology, anti-demon pharmacology and sealing were hands-on, applicable skills that he could have use for. And since they made sense to him, he didn't think twice – or read twice – as he delved into _Comprehensive Demonology for the_ _20th Century_.

At their first test in anti-demon pharmacology he surprised himself by scoring 98/100. It was one point below Kita, which stung, but it was better than any other result he'd scored, ever. It was just insane. Wicked. Awesome. Hah, what would Fuji and Yasuda say?

Shiro checked himself just as he had imagined their faces when he showed them. Fuji and Yasuda wouldn't say anything. They would never know he'd tried a real handgun at the shooting range, either, or that his first summon had been a Persian bird-dog demon. They would never know anything of what was really taught at True Cross Academy. Suddenly it was as if he'd not only enrolled in cram school, but crossed the border into the very Gehenna: his friends being on the other side of a barrier he couldn't cross.

They had been so happy to have him back from the hospital. When they had woken up that morning and he wasn't in his bed, and there was no note, all his stuff still there… It was quite funny how little it took for them to turn into mother hens. They also took the time to ensure him that they didn't care that he'd contracted a rare STD that caused oozing wounds in the shoulder-area; he was still their friend. They would take turns carrying his satchel, even. As long as he wrapped the strap in plastic.

"' _Informed in very vague phrasing.' I'll inform him what I think in very exact phrasing when I give him that stupid tea…_ " Shiro fell off the chair with a yelp when a giant maw of assorted brick-shaped teeth opened before him.

"Thank you, goblin", said Sen in her dreamy voice, and the demon vanished. At the desk next to her, Midori chortled merrily.

"Thank you, Futotsuki-chan, but next time you could just pat his shoulder", Matsuri-sensei smiled. "No day-dreaming, Fujimoto-kun. As I was saying, you are going on a three-day training camp starting on Friday in two weeks. I will hand out packing lists today, and you have the rest of day before off to prepare."

"You almost killed me, Sen-chan!" Shiro exclaimed as they exited the classroom. "What's the deal with that goblin anyway? I never see you using any summoning circle."

"No", she admitted absentmindedly; and that was all he got form her.

"Ne, Sen-chan, Shiro-kun is curious." Midori trotted on the other side of the short girl, looking even more fox-like when a smile shrunk her eyes to merry arches. "Show him, or he'll rack his brain till it comes a-pouring out of his ears~"

Sen smiled dreamily and unbuttoned her uniform shirt. Shiro didn't know where this was going, but it sure had taken a good course.

"The Futotsuki clan are exorcists", said Sen. "But different from the Vatican exorcists. We bind demons, and fight with them." Her bared chest revealed a tattooed seal, just below her sternum. At first glance it was similar to the ones used for summoning, but different upon closer inspection: Shiro opted for a _very_ close inspection, but Midori seized him by the scruff.

"I am near-sighted, you know." He tapped his glasses with a winning smile.

Midori returned the smile, but didn't release him.

"You're a man, Shiro-kun: no matter how close you inspect a woman, you won't come closer to understanding her."

Shiro was about to reply that well, he would still do his best to reach that understanding, when a dark shadow towered behind the half-demon.

"Let him go, filth, or I will make you."

Midori did let go, and turned to placate Agari: the latter shoved her violently into the wall and poised herself between Midori and the other two.

"She meant no harm, Agari-san", said Sen, her big eyes – a reddish maroon, Shiro noted for the first time – expressionless.

"To protect the ignorant and defenceless, and purge this world of evil: that is what exorcists do", Agari responded, a rigid statue of faith like the ones that stood in aged alcoves scattered throughout the Academy. "To count bastard half-breeds spawned by evil into our ranks is blasphemy of the worst kind."

Midori visibly bristled where she stood, eyes a lethal hue of gold.

"Evil is of the heart, not of blood or breed", she growled, baring sharp fangs. "And in yours there is abundance."

"All demons are liars", Agari replied calmly, withdrawing what looked like a hand-grenade strapped to her thigh under the skirt.

"Now who's the hormonally challenged teenage runt?" Shiro bit in, dodging Agari's guard and stepping in between the two girls. "You're on the same side, remember?"

"This is holy water, blessed by God through men of the cloth." Agari rattled the hand-grenade, making a faint splashing noise. "Anything that cannot abide the blessing of God is not on our side."

Seeing her finger already in the fuze, Shiro put all his leg muscle into a tackle. He knocked Agari over, but the activated grenade remained on the floor where they had been standing.

" _How long's the delay on those?_ " Shiro thought, struggling to get up and kick the device away. Agari would have none of it: she locked her arms around him, immersing his face in her breasts and killing his shoulders. Just where he wanted to be, just when he didn't want to be there: if Shiro had been even slightly inclined towards the spiritual, he might have considered the irony a sign.

The grenade went off with a wet, muffled bang.

"Midori-chan!" he shouted into the warm softness.

Agari finally let go with a grunt. Shiro pushed his glasses straight and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing his classmate unharmed. Sen had summoned her giant goblin to shield Midori, and herself she was on all fours on the floor, her uniform shirt employed to cover the grenade. Too bad she hadn't gotten any water on her, that bra looked like it would be see-through if it got soaked…

"Midori, did you get anything on you?" All distanced dreaminess gone from her voice, Sen scrambled up to inspect her friend. Some water had splashed onto her legs and feet, leaving eczema-like rashes that sizzled and darkened by the minute.

Sen turned her eyes on Agari with a look that made Shiro vow by all things holy never to cross the Futotsuki clan.

"Goblin." The demon growled in response to it's master's voice, hunching into position for leaping with the barbed tongue lolling out. "Make her-"

"Sen-chan, hold it! Think!" Shiro had no idea what he was doing. "We haven't done anything, right? Only Agari-san. Don't do anything rash. She'll get what's coming to her, even more so if we look like saints."

* * *

They gave a full account of what had transpired to Matsuri-sensei. Her face was very grave when she cleaned Midori's wounds – a horrible process to watch. According to Matsuri-sensei, holy water effected demons the way sulphuric acid effected humans, and unless all of it was removed it would continue to dissolve tissue. There was no other condition, although it made Shiro sick to his stomach to see his teacher carve into the poor girl's leg. Midori didn't whimper or cry at the sharp steel: she had one hand on Sen's shoulder, ensuring the silent girl that the flesh would grow back and she would be fine. Once the darkened tissue was cut away it… melted. And burnt. What was left was a kind of black, repulsive ooze that reminded Shiro of the Naberius he'd been attacked by. Matsuri-sensei got Sen a towel, and thanked both her and Shiro for doing a great job. Lastly, she marched a rigid, silent Agari off for punishment. Midori was back in her good mood virtually moments after they had left the classroom.

"Oh, were I a fly, that I could buzz away and spy that crispy twist of fate~" she sang, ears twitching. "You didn't hear, no? Sweet Matsuri-sensei says is a grave offence, yes, a case that has to be brought all the way to highest high. Up the principal's office, m-hm~"

A blissful smile settled on Sen's lips. Shiro chortled and lit a celebratory smoke.

"I hope she chucks a grenade at him", he grinned, blowing a thin cloud into the air.

"Shiro-kun, that stinks", Midori frowned, her eyebrows knitting in an adorable grimace. "You humans have noses only for decoration, methinks at times."

"Sorry." He wet his fingers and snuffed it. "Say, Midori-chan: do all demons talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like… singing? As if you're always thinking of some good joke? Or making fun of things?"

Midori flashed a coy smile.

"Is because we have humour, yes? Is because we see the potential in things you have long forgotten to see. And humans are very funny." She had a laughter like light rain on laburnum, and she looked positively dazzling when she laughed. "Funniest of all, you don't know how funny you are! Is sweet, too. Like kittens chasing their tails. I used to watch humans all day long. They came to the forest to dine, to play, to love – to die." Her yellow eyes grew deep with wistfulness. "Strange creatures you are, who do such a thing. One day came woman in black robes, smelling of steel and blood. Bad smell. She did not come to dine or play or love – or die, though death came with her. I did not like being where she was, but she moved all around the forest. She was like itchy fleas in my mind. So I tell her to leave. Not like this." Midori patted her throat. "I did not speak then. I showed her to go away. I did not understand that it was me she was there to kill – neither did she. She was there to kill a demon, not a child. Instead she gave me food. She gave me clothes, and a language to speak and understand." Midori smiled sweetly. "I didn't know my parents. She was my mother and father. I want to become an exorcist to do  
for others what she did for me."

Shiro's lips smiled. He was quite sure they were doing it for him, and that no conscious effort, his or anyone else's, could make them stop. There was no way Midori could be plotting against Faust.

"What of you, Shiro-kun? Why are you here?" Those golden eyes, shining interest and friendliness on him: it was like two suns that went straight through the skin and warmed the inside. He almost blurt out that he was there because he was fated to meet her, but luckily held his tongue. It's true that men have two heads, and at least some of the time Shiro knew which did the better thinking.

"Well, my reason isn't as nice as yours." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, using the extra seconds to come up with a story. "I was a stupid kid, you know. Real stupid. There was a haunted house in the area I lived, and the kids would dare one another to go in. And you know, everybody knew that those who said they'd been in there were lying. Everybody lied about it – said they'd gone in there at night and heard or seen things and then come out. Everybody knew that except little naïve Fujimoto Shiro. So I actually went in there, and it turns out to be a goblin nest. Luckily I was small – obviously, you know, that's why I couldn't fit enough sense in my head to understand what was going on – so I could crawl down and hide under the floorboards till the goblins had settled down." He threw his hands out. "Afterwards I told the other kids where I had been and what I'd seen, and they all started describing what they had seen. Only then did I realise that all their stories were made up and I was the only one who'd actually been there. And I could claim that till I ran out of air, but they would keep saying they had gone in too. So yeah… Once you are able to see spirits there's no going back. When I learnt there was  
a school for exorcists where they acknowledged that these things exist, well… It would be nice to be around people who believed me for a change." He pulled an excusing smile. "Not such an amazing story, eh?"

"I liked it", Sen smiled, eyes glazed over. "Your childhood was very different from mine and hers. It's like hearing a fairytale."

"To fairytale creatures a human story is very exotic", Midori added. "I enjoyed hearing it."

" _I'm in heaven, surrounded by beautiful girls smiling at me~_ " Shiro fumbled with facial expressions, trying to appear cool and unaffected. "I think it's good to have someone like Pheles as principal. This kind of thing, discrimination against half-demons and such, won't have a chance to grow with a demon supervising it all."

"Is not good." Midori's firm statement came as a surprise, as did the wrinkle that settled between her eyebrows. "Sir Pheles is like itching in the mind, and flies in the ears, and thorns in the feet. I have met him", she confided, more serious than Shiro had ever seen her. "I would not say things of somebody I did not meet. He looks like a man and acts like a man, but the more human they look the less human they are. Demons like him should not live among people."

"They do when they are bound", Sen chimed serenely. "Sir Pheles has been bound for centuries, serving the Holy Fathers."

"I trust a demon who is bound, but not a demon who bound himself", Midori responded. "Nobody is willing to be slave, and whoever says elsewise lies. A demon who can fool the Pope is a good liar, and a bad thing to have around."


	19. Misjudgement

"Hey, Shiro-san…" Yasuda waved a hand in front of his face. "You're completely out of it, man. This cram school crap's draining you, and your grades aren't improving – are getting _worse_. It's not working. Why don't you quit and focus on regular school?"

"Kaa-san, are you alive?" She pulled a crooked grin. "When did my grades ever bother you?"

"It's our _last year_. These are our _final grades_ , and if they look crap you'll be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life."

"Look, I've got it covered, don't worry." He rubbed his eyes. Suspiciousness was bad for sleep.

Faust had left out his own name from _Comprehensive Demonology_ ; who knew what else had been omitted? And the false wards… Shiro's gnawing doubts had effectively quadrupled his study load by adding the literature Kohu-sensei had had in her time. So far it was paying off in headaches only. And, he had to admit, Faust had done the world a great favour with that compilation.

" _I wonder what happened to Agari…_ "

Shiro had no idea how such conflicts were settled. Would they elicit an apology from her and be done with that, or what? Would there be monetary compensation? Would she be allowed to come with them to camp? Or would she be kicked out? What she had done was attempted murder, more or less.

Shiro was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost walked into Yasuda when he left the classroom. Fuji was there too, the two of them ganging up on him with determined faces.

"Look, you've been studying way too hard with no results. Ergo, you need a break."

"So we are taking you", Fuji produced a fan of three tickets from his pocket, "to True Cross Holiday Resort. Over the weekend. Beaches, hot pools, arcades, buffets, and no school books."

"And _girls_."

Shiro's eyes hovered towards the tickets like flies unto flame. Gods knew he could use a break, but…

"I wish you'd told me earlier. Sorry guys, but I can't. This weekend's full."

"Oh come on! Nobody studies on weekends except for exams, and we had that batch last week!"

"It's not studies, it's…" What could explain being gone three days? Shit, if only he'd had relatives to visit… if only he hadn't been so tired… "I have pre-existing engagements."

"Oh, _big_ words! Important stuff, huh? So important you can't tell your friends about it?"

"What's that tone?" Shiro pressed grimly, eyes narrowing.

"That tone? _That tone_ is for two weeks of you not giving _shit_ about anything 'cept that _stupid_ cram school you can't even handle! What are you trying to prove, Shiro-san? We're trying to help you here and what do you do? Hah? You don't give a shit! And I'm sick of that! You think you can treat other people like dirt, you cocky little bitch?!"

"Yasuda-san, calm down!" Fuji urged, barely recognising his friend. "Someone else can have the third ticket, it's not-"

"And when did you get a voice? Hah? You're a spineless maggot sucking up to that self-centred bastard! You'd eat a cockroach if he told you to, you fucking waste of space! Do you have any respect for yourself?! Do you even have a will of your own or are you just a nodding puppet?!"

"The hell's wrong with you, Yasuda-san?!" Shiro growled, shoving the taller guy away from Fuji. "Just 'cause I can't go with you doesn't mean I don't want to! Of course I want to! But I _can't_ – get that into your overgrown head! You're the one acting like a shit right now and if you-"

Yasuda's large hand caught him by the collar and pushed him up against the wall. This close to his face, Shiro realised that Yasuda wasn't angry. He was crazy.

"Like a fly pinned on the collector's board!" His eyes bulged, bloodshot, staring maniacally into Shiro's.

"Fuji, get someone! He's nuts!" Shiro kicked for Yasuda's groin. The latter blocked with his free hand, then grabbed Shiro's hair so hard his fingernails dug into the scalp. " _That's it, I'm getting the knife out tonight._ "

Yasuda let go of his collar, forced him around and bashed his head into the wall. Shiro instinctively raised his hands and turned his head, scalp burning with torn-off hair and skin. When he hit the wall the glasses squirmed askew and cut into his nose bone.

"You asshole…" Stars. Bright, blue-white stars and a hydraulic drill in his head. "You don't hit people with glasses…" Another bash, his knees were giving, the stars grew brighter… pink?

"Excuse me~"

In the corner of his eye, a lavender glove appeared on Yasuda's shoulder. Shiro slid against the wall for support when the tugging on his hair ceased. He adjusted his glasses with fumbling fingers and saw Yasuda, turned to face Faust. The latter wore a friendly smile, lips closed, to grace his features. It was a smile that was incredibly polite and at the same time very, very ominous.

"Ah- I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry, I-ah-I didn't know! Please, y-your highness, let m- let me go I didn't know I swear, I-!"

Faust's smile grew slowly wider; his eyelids lowered pleasantly, his gaze unwavering. Yasuda's pleas ebbed into a low whimpering that tied Shiro's intestines in knots. He knew that wasn't Yasuda - but it looked like Yasuda. And the pleading, the begging, the misery of the creature...

"You didn't know", Faust spoke in bedroom tones, his smile as sweet as honey of belladonna, "whose barriers those were? You didn't recognise the power that held them in place?" His hand moved from Yasuda's shoulder to tilt his chin upward. Gently. Carefully. "Is that what you want me to believe~?"

Yasuda shivered.

"Please…" His voice fainter than a whisper, thick with dread.

Shiro was sharply aware that he had never seen a person beg for his life before.

"For if you did know, and you still entered _my_ territory~" Faust's smile stretched into a nightmare. "Then I would have to take that as a _challenge_ …"

"No! Ah, I-ah…"

"Shiro-kun?" he said, eyes still on Yasuda.

Shiro swallowed hard a few times, getting a feel of his vocal tract.

"Yes, Sir Pheles?"

"Your friend here is possessed by a demon of rot, mid level. Do you know the fatal verses for them?"

"Your highness! I'll leave, I'll leave this instant, you'll never see me again, have mercy your highness _please_!"

"Mercy?" Shiro's ears curled in on themselves like burnt paper. "You really didn't know whose territory you trespassed on, did you?" The green irises moved to Shiro. "Do you know the fatal verses?"

He wanted to look away, oh _god_ , he wanted to look away from those eyes. A human hides her cruelty, banishes it to the darkest recesses of her heart: a demon relishes it, basks in it, embraces all its perverted forms and flaunts them shamelessly. That cruelty was what exorcists fought with khakkhara and Bible. That cruelty danced in Faust's eyes like the very flames of Gehenna. And though he wanted to look away, Shiro met his gaze and held it.

"…somewhere in the gospel of St. John."

"Very good~ I would say his are..." He scrutinized Yasuda's tear-streaked face with disinterest. "17:1-26."

Shiro fumbled for the pocket Bible in his satchel. God, his fingers trembled… He had it, but he could barely hold on to it. How would he turn those ridiculously thin pages?

" _Because it has to be done._ " Deep breath. " _Okaa-san…_ " That familiar spark of defiant anger lit his mind, fuelled him as he thumbed through the pages. " _Otou-san…_ " There, the gospel of St. John. Firm voice and firm mind, as Goggles-sensei said... "When Jesus had spoken these words, he lifted up his eyes to heaven…"

* * *

"Will he remember any of this?"

Yasuda had collapsed as soon as the dark miasma had been expelled. Fallen limp like a ragdoll. He was so big, and yet he looked so small and light when Faust slipped him down to rest sitting against the wall. No, not Faust. Mephisto. Whatever illusion Shiro had had of humanity in him had been burnt away by those green eyes. That was a demon, a powerful one, and no girly yukatas would change that.

"No. The human soul sleeps while the demon is possessing the body."

Shiro pondered that statement. It would have been a hassle to explain demons to Yasuda if he had remembered, but on the other hand then he would have been able to tell him. Now his friends would still be kept in the dark. Ugh, his head hurt. Shiro grimaced. He wouldn't mind lying down and calling it a day, but after what had happened his body was still in survival mode and there was no calming down until the adrenaline had worn off.

"Does that go for you too?" he asked.

Mephisto's rudimentary eyebrows rose, eyes drooping as always.

"Of course."

"So it's like stealing and holding someone hostage at the same time?"

"Were you a demon, I might have had your head for your insolence", he smiled, ears twitching. "Most of the time the body is stolen, yes, but it doesn't have to be so. I am a gentleman, and this body is mine by right. I bought and paid for it as part of the deal I made with its former owner."

"Bad deal for the owner. Is his soul still in there?" Shiro had the strangest impulse to poke and squeeze and see if a possessed body was tangibly different from others.

That wasn't really what the impulse was about, of course. And it wasn't the adrenaline short-circuiting his rational thinking (although it certainly didn't improve it). No, it was that little voice without self-preservation that sat securely in the back of his head and egged him on to do reckless things. Peril equals temptation in some poorly wired minds.

"Would you really want know where his soul is, Shiro-kun...?"

"No, I'd rather not." He took off his glasses to attempt straightening them. Well, ostensibly for that reason. "Thank you for saving my ass. Twice, for that matter." He carefully felt and tested every hinge and sidepiece, bending here and there.

"You don't thank a demon, stupid boy", the fuzzy blob of white, purple and pink snorted, arms akimbo from the looks of it.

"Why? Demon or not, fact remains you saved me." Was this actually… ticking him off? Shiro put his glasses back.

"Protected an investment", Mephisto corrected matter-of-factly. "It's not in any demon's nature to do anything without gain. Besides, if I let demons parade in and out of here as they please, it will soon be said throughout Gehenna that I've gone soft."

"You worry about your reputation in Gehenna?" Shiro allowed a small smirk to slide onto his lips. "I thought that would be pretty ruined already, given that you joined the enemy?"

A muscle twitched in Mephisto's left eye.

"Listen carefully, boy, for this is found in none of your school books. There are no laws in Gehenna. The strong subdue the weak, and the weak obey the strong if they want to keep their lives. Demon lords fight each other to move up in rank, and ranked highest of all are the princes. We don't fight amongst each other, as a rule, because we could lay waste to areas the size of continents if we did. But if word reaches them that prince Mephistopheles, the apostate and the exile, is too weak to hold even this small territory…?" Mephisto's gaze felt like the tip of a knife against his throat.

"They'd kill you…?" he breathed.

The grave countenance dissolved in hooting laughter.

"What? What's so funny?" Dammit, he could feel his cheeks and ears heating. Mephisto had positively doubled over, clutching his midriff. "I thought you were serious! You made it sound like…! You were just lying, you bastard!"

"Ahaha, haaa, not lying, Shiro-kun, no…" he wiped at his eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "No, I could fight them any day, but True Cross Town and the academy would be levelled to the ground. For that reason I want to keep my- the other princes imbued with some degree of fear and respect." His grin widened again when his eyes found Shiro. "My, you resemble a strawberry lollipop~" Mirth, the kind of which should not be allowed on this earth, lit his eyes when he spoke: "It couldn't be you're more concerned about _me_ than the prospect of tens of thousands of humans dying, and vast expanses of land being blown into oblivion~?"

"Why you…!" He would bash all the teeth out of that flirtatious smirk, consequences be damned, he would strangle that clown with his ridiculous cravat…!

* * *

Shiro spent a fair number of minutes in utter humiliation, swinging furiously at the demon who always seemed to be just out of range. The smirk and the occasional wink weren't even the worst things: Shiro couldn't determine how Mephisto dodged. He didn't seem to move, and yet he _must_ have moved; _Shiro_ moved. A lot, and to no avail. Flustered, sweating and panting, he glared balefully at the demon.

"You're cute when you're angry, Shiro-pon~"

Shiro felt a twitch in his eyebrow. It had come down to that, huh? Only one thing to do, then…

"Now you are being childish", Mephisto declared, arms crossed and ears pulling downwards disapprovingly.

"Me?" Shiro drew the virgin breath on the smoke and put on the most untroubled, uncomprehending, and infuriating face he could muster. "I'm just following suit: you're the one playing tag." He blew smoke in Mephisto's direction, watching his nose crinkle. "Don't worry, I'll take care of Yasuda-san when he wakes up. You must have much more important things to do than bickering with school children."

Mephisto's eyebrow quirked up, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Hmm, yes: now that you mention it, I have to write schedules for said school children." He fished out a key ring and fit one into the door of the empty classroom. "Auf Wiedersehen, Shiro-pon~"

Shiro drew another breath and blew out a fan of smoke as the door closed. Then he chuckled to himself.

"I do believe that was a draw, Mephisto-san~"


	20. Whatever it takes

So Mephisto really was a Prince. Huh. But he was pretty good at arcade games, too. How did that add up? And that childish sulk when he lost, and the hellish look on his face when he asked for the fatal verses: how did that add up…? How was it possible that these two fundamentally different sides were-

"Gyaahrhuhrr!"

Their geography teacher did not seem pleased with his answer to the name of the capital of the Republic of Upper Volta, but the rest of the class was quite amused. Fuji screwed the capsule back on the water bottle with a huge grin. More than falling asleep in class, more than being ridiculed in front of everybody, it was that grin that disturbed Shiro. The change was subtle, but evident; the way you, and only you, will notice if the toothbrush cup is half an inch out of place when you reach for it in the morning.

Yasuda hadn't changed much after the possession – naturally, since he couldn't remember it. Fuji had. For a while he'd been… aloof. Yasuda had apologised for everything he had done, once they'd told him about it, but that didn't make the words unsaid. Fuji was a sensitive guy. Shiro had figured he'd get over it in time, so he focused on cram school and his own research. He hadn't thought that Fuji "getting over it" would mean that Fuji took possessed-Yasuda's words into consideration.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we're going to the night market today. You coming?"

"C'mon Yasuda-san, you know what his answer will be. He's too busy." Fuji looked at him as if to challenge him to say otherwise.

"I am too busy", he said sullenly, lighting a cigarette.

"With what?"

"Can't say."

"There's not much you _can_ say recently. Like why Yasuda-san was unconscious when I came back and has no memory of anything."

"Oi, we've been through this", Shiro grunted, rubbing the dark circles under his eyes. "And I don't understand it any more than you do. If you could just drop it and-"

"You know what? I've half a mind to drop _you_. You've changed, Shiro-san, and you've changed into an asshole. No, wait; on second thought, you always were an asshole", Fuji stated. "But not to us. Just tell us what's going on and we can go back to how it was."

"The only bad thing about being an asshole is that you get surrounded by shit", Shiro returned pointedly. "And if you don't start using your ears I might be tempted to cut them off. I. Can't. Tell. You."

"Fine." Fuji held up his hands in mock surrender, the infamous look of cluelessness on his face. "You don't need to tell me anything. Ever. I'm just an errand boy anyway, not somebody you actually need to pay attention to."

"Cut it out, Fuji-san, you know that's not how it is", Shiro fumed.

"Oh yeah? And when have you ever gotten anything for me? I've brought you cigarettes, booze, magazines, food, everything. And have you ever done any of-"

"I got the prefect report that would've had you nailed for the chòu dòufu."

"Right – one thing. One tiny little thing that you did for me, and you-"

Shiro had hit him before he knew what his hand was doing. An uppercut in the middle of a sentence: real foul play. Fuji bit right through his lip, blood gushing over his chin and his clothes. He touched his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Shiro. Shiro stared back, trying to comprehend what he had just done.

"What the hell did you do that for? We need to get him to the infirmary, that's gonna need stitches!" Yasuda led Fuji off to the cafeteria to get tissue paper.

"Are you coming or not?"

"I… I'm sorry. I have to go. I have…" The backs of his two best friends blended into the crowd. "…detention." He looked down at his hand. " _What the hell did I do that for…?_ " He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his unkempt hair. " _Well, shit…_ "

* * *

Cleaning leaper cages was fair punishment for trying to punch your principal in the face. Shiro could acknowledge that – could have lived with it, even – if not for one thing: Agari. Needless to say, when your principal is a demon there is no such thing as fair punishment. Agari usually ignored him, casting the occasional glare at his back, and that was (almost) fine. Boring to the point of madness, yes, but detention wasn't designed to be fun. But when she started inspecting the parts he had cleaned, like some sort of drill sergeant, making discontent grimaces and pointing out to him where he'd missed…

"How long are you gonna be here, anyway?" he asked, gathering up the foul-smelling remains of the demons' lunch. He had been assigned one week, and if he was to work with her that whole time he'd suffer an aneurism. Even so, right now an argument would be more welcome than strained silence. "Oi, no reason to give me the cold shoulder, you dug the pitfall yourself." With the exception of the shovel gritting against the cell floor, the response was still silence. Determined to change that, Shiro added a more insinuating tone: "I hear Pheles quite enjoyed lecturing you, if that's the proper word for it…"

"What?"

Agari had a lovely temper. It's what you get when you try to coat fire with ice: pour oil on the flames and they'll explode when the outer layer gives. Shiro leaned on his shovel, smiling. He felt better already. He really must be an asshole.

"What's it like to kiss someone with fangs?" he asked sweetly.

Agari's shovel clanked into his own, level with his head.

"I would rather die than let that creature lay hand on me", she hissed to his face.

Shiro kept blocking and let her decide how things would proceed. He wasn't too impressed by how that turned out. Agari was a great fighter when she kept her head: when provoked, she was no better than Shizuku or Kita. Shiro himself wasn't much of a brawler, but he had a knack for keeping his head cool under pressure. What he lacked in physical strength he could make up for by analysis and good old dirty tricks.

He had concluded that he would very much like to have Agari on his side: if she weren't, she'd be one hell of a roadblock. People say a lot of things about faith – it can move mountains, divert rivers, make chickens hatch from dumplings and whatnot. While most of it is bullshit or analogy, it is true that faith can spur a person to do things that defy both human limitations and logic. And Agari was that kind of person.

"Okay, enough."

When Shiro had her movements fairly patterned, he tripped her and held her down, the shaft of his shovel held across her throat. …and there he had a brief blackout. A rather pleasant one, though. With that cold, furious look on her face, breasts heaving with heavy breath, Agari looked like some of the girls in the magazines he collected.

"Nghah!"

The main reason boys won't fight girls is not some obscure notion of chivalry, but the fact that boys are more easily distracted. And more easily disabled. Agari's kick wasn't a clean hit, thank the gods, but accurate enough to make pain shoot throughout his body and drain the strength from it. A second later they had switched places, Shiro pushing upward with all his might to keep Agari from strangling him with the shovel shaft. Though she wasn't stronger, her full weight was enough to make his arms tremble. Shiro yanked and shifted the weight backwards, making Agari lose her balance and fall forward. She rolled to her feet with delicious grace.

"Let's just get a few things straight, 'kay?" Shiro got to his feet too, wary of every move that she-devil made. "I've got a foul mouth and you've got a hot temper. We go together like oil and water, but I'm willing to try and keep my mouth shut if you're willing to be civil with me. I'm not a good person, or a devout believer, but I am probably the only one who'll talk to you after that grenade thing. Also, I know nothing happened between you and Pheles", he said in more casual tones. "I just said that to get you to talk to me. And because you're hot when you're angry."

"You speak as if your mouth is not under the control of your mind", she snarled, fists curled and ready. So much for trying to make things casual… "And you make out my sins to be equal to yours, though you have wronged me twice."

"Alright. I'm responsible for everything I say, and I apologise. Now will you talk to me?"

Agari's glare only darkened.

"Forgiveness is earned, not bargained for."

"Forgiveness is a gift, not a salary", he countered. "And I don't need you to forgive me, I just need you to listen."

"To a lost sheep that bleats derision at its shepherd?"

Think. Agari hadn't grown up an animal in the woods, like Midori: she should be easy to handle, as ramrod straight as her mind appeared to be. Shiro sighed, let his guard drop and lowered his eyes to the floor.

"And I thought you'd understand…" he took a gamble and turned his back to her, picked up his shovel and resumed detention work.

"…understand what?"

" _That I'm playing you like a koto._ " Shiro shovelled leftovers and waste into the wheelbarrow, avoiding looking at her. "Most who come here seem to think that Pheles is tame. Like a familiar to the Vatican." Glimpses of the malicious flames in Mephisto's eyes skimmed his retina. "I don't think he is. Wouldn't you say it's strange for him to be trusted with educating exorcists, when all other demons have been pumped for information and then discarded? The reason he gets so much leash is _classified_ ", he continued, grating out waste from between the floor tiles with the edge of his shovel. "Kita-san knows what it is, but he won't tell anyone who doesn't have a pedigree chart going back five generations." Shiro wouldn't have tried this on anybody save for Agari. He knew where she stood concerning demons, and she had a rash nature; if she was part of the conspiracy she might let that slip to someone she felt shared her views. "Personally I think the whole affair smells rotten. I had a feeling you might have had similar thoughts."

"You don't trust the Vatican's judgement?" she ventured coolly.

" _I don't trust anybody's judgement._ " Shiro honestly didn't know what to make of Mephisto. He was a colourful assembly of contradictions, he was as childish as he was dangerous, and he was up to something. Regardless of what was façade and what was real, the fact remained that there were question marks around the principal that made him more suspicious than any of Shiro's classmates. "Demons' greatest talent is deceiving humans and taking advantage of our weaknesses", he said aloud. "And the Vatican is run by human minds. They can make mistakes just like we can."

Agari resumed her work slowly. Then she spoke in measured, matter-of-fact tones:

"I don't know what Kita-kun knows. But I know what they say in the Vatican – or whisper, rather. Should I entrust a heathen like you with that?"

"If it's up to me to decide: yeah."

"You take everything to be so simple", she snorted. "As if the world is nothing more than what your eyes show you."

" _You take everything so seriously, as if the world is one big exam that you're afraid of failing._ " It was on the tip of his tongue, stroking and clawing on his teeth like a cat in heat, and it was with great mental effort he kept himself from saying it. This was not the time for cheekiness and jokes. " _Whatever it takes…_ "

There are times when people must be what they need to be rather than what they want to be: that was the emergency principle that could override any other personal code of ethics Shiro held onto. Whatever it takes to accomplish what has to be done.

"I think you've got me wrong there, Agari-chan. I don't believe any of what my eyes show me. I believe people show what they want you to see, and that they rather paint reality with lies than see a truth they don't like." He didn't hide the bitterness in his voice. It had to appear convincing. Whatever it takes, even going back to memories that shouldn't exist: whatever it takes, even if that means telling the truth. "I believe you have to find the truth for yourself." His lips yanked into a smile that wasn't a smile. "And hold yourself together, no matter what truth does to you."

Silence. Real silence, no scraping of shovels or echo of footfalls.

"In the Vatican, they say Pheles had a contract with the Pope. That shouldn't be possible", Agari added, stabbing hard at a splotch of caked blood and intestines. Shiro took the hint and started working again. "It's unthinkable that a Holy Father would seek aid from the devil, but some say it happened. Allegedly, when Napoleon's armies were at the Vatican borders, Pope Pius the seventh made a… mistake. In fear and desperation, he lost faith and called out for someone to protect the church. The church", she clarified, "meaning both the buildings and the faith. Napoleon intended to conquer both. And supposedly, that was when Mephisto Pheles appeared before Pius and offered to do what he asked."

"Wow, I'll be… A demon saving the Vatican. If that's true, I understand why it's classified. It would be the end of the Holy See."

"If it is true, the Holy See has bigger problems", Agari said, her monotonous voice losing some of its austerity. "Nobody knows what Pius promised Pheles in return; only that the demon is still here, like a fox waiting beneath a tree for chicks to fall out of the nest."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **Koto** is an old, plucked string instrument, a bit like a horizontal harp.


	21. For old times' sake

" _Mephisto, you're Satan himself…_ "

Just looking at the guy was torture. Back straight, face straight, impeccable exorcist robes, starched collar and creases in all the right places. Glasses polished to the point that you could probably use them for Morse communication with space stations. The kind of guy who ironed his underwear. The kind of guy Shiro usually kept his distance from in case it was contagious.

"Todo Saburota, junior first class exorcist. I am assigned to escort you to Mrs. Moriyama for medical check-up."

" _Even his voice…_ " Shiro groaned inwardly. "Fujimoto Shiro. Hi. Ready when you are."

Saburota produced a key. Then another one. And another, and then he put them back and started rummaging around in his other pocket.

"Ever thought about getting a key ring?"

"It's unwise to keep all keys in one place: if the key ring was lost or stolen, all of the keys would be gone. Ah, here it is."

The door opened to a bridge into the sky.

" _I have to summon shahrokh and fly here…_ "

Cool autumn wind ruffled Shiro's hair as they stepped out on an aqueduct soaring high above the rooftops. The Academy looked like a mountain. A mountain with jagged ridges and spiked pinnacles, with weaving crevasses and caves hidden by hanging towers. Looking at it, Shiro felt like he was flying already.

He had seen the broccoli-formation they were headed for when he climbed into Mephisto's office, but only up close did he see the house nestled in the greenery: a big wooden thing with lots of windows and odd outcroppings.

"So – Saburota-senpai, was it? How many demons has your family slain?"

"42,668", he answered with the efficacy of a machine gun. "Do you find something amusing about that?"

"Only that you keep count", Shiro chuckled, keeping his hands in his pockets and dragging his feet in a comfortable gait; walking next to Saburota made him somewhat… polarised. "How many o' those are yours?"

"Thirty-nine." He pushed his glasses up, and Shiro noted for the first time that they hid an abundance of freckles on his cheeks. "I rarely get the opportunity since my main task is guard duty in Deep Keep."

"Deep Keep?"

"A high-security vault beneath the Academy, where objects deemed hazardous are stored for safekeeping. My family has been responsible for guarding it for almost a hundred years."

" _Explains a lot_ ", he thought, imagining two Todos standing like statues on either side of a bolted iron door, day after day. "Do you get to see any cool stuff down there?"

"If by 'stuff' you mean the objects of safekeeping, I am not allowed to tell you their exact nature."

Shiro pondered for a moment if it would be worth jumping from the aqueduct. The fall would surely kill him much faster than Saburota did.

"So who leads the demon-slaying contest, Todo or Yaonaru?"

"Todo."

"I have a Yaonaru kid in my class. Would you report me if I beat him up?"

"It's my obligation to report any undesired disturbances occurring at True Cross Academy."

"Just joking, man. Just joking…" He patted Saburota on the shoulder with the dejected smile of one who knows he's whipping a dead horse. " _I bet you're laughing right now, you clown…_ "

Saburota didn't even give him an odd look for the patting, but kept his posture and face professionally straight.

Entering the shop was like walking into the cram school hall for the first time. It was like any other shop, and yet it wasn't. Brushes of dried herbs hung like bats from the rafters, filling the crammed space with smells of parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and things that he didn't recognise because he'd never eaten them. The two young men were herded into walking single file in the narrow paths between the curious stock, flanked on both sides by wooden cabinets, urns and woven baskets loaded with talismans, bones, silver crucifixes, little white cubes of some sort… The golf club leaning against a trellis seemed a bit out of place, but it probably had some use.

"Good day, Miss Moriyama. We are here to see Mrs. Moriyama."

"And to pick up tea for a certain purple-haired eccentric", Shiro added with a half smile. " _Oh yes, she digs me_ ", he thought when she returned the smile and went to fetch her mother.

"Fujimoto-kun, that's not an appropriate way to speak of the principal."

"I'll call him whatever I want if he calls me Shiro-pon", he muttered under his breath.

"Beg pardon?"

"Just saying it's an impressive shop. One of these wouldn't be too bad to have." He traced the elaborate portrait of a woman engraved on the grip of a beautiful M1911 in the weapon rack.

Ten minutes later, they sat at a small crate-turned-table in the back of the shop. Moriyama-san gingerly cut the stitches and removed them with tweezers, all the while giving Sayuri a detailed account of what she was doing. Sayuri might be the shop's new owner one day and paid close attention, nodding intermittently to confirm that she understood what was done and why. The edges of the wounds were jagged and reddish, and the flesh was still sore, but they would heal completely on their own.

"There. All better", she smiled. "Roll your shoulders and move your arms gently every now and then to keep them from going stiff and you should be fine. Would you pour our guests some tea out in the shop while I wash up, sweetie? Oh, and wrap Sir Pheles' tea. Under the counter, top right shelf."

* * *

"Wow, best tea I ever had", Shiro admitted, setting his cup down. "Your mom makes it herself?"

"Yes. She grows the herbs, I take care of the purchases. Weapons, ammunition, the lot." She gestured towards the cabinets that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. "It's more my type of work."

" _My type of girl._ " Shiro took another gulp of the aromatic tea. "You training to be an exorcist?"

"Mom won't let me", she replied in a tone that made further comments unnecessary. "Dad was an exorcist; she's afraid I'll end up the same way."

"Sweetie, it has nothing to do with your father", Moriyama senior said, stepping into the shop with a soft, worried look on her face. "You're my child. If anything happened to you-"

"You're just afraid nobody will take over the garden when you can't work anymore. Those plants are your children more than I am." Sayuri disappeared out through the back of the shop, her cold words hanging like toxic dust particles in the air.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that... She has her father's strong spirit – it's more than I can handle, sometimes", Moriyama-san sighed, her kind glow fading like a wilting flower. She took the brown paper bag Sayuri had left on the counter and set to wrapping it, slowly, with hands aged beyond their years. "She's my most precious flower, that girl. I just couldn't bear to lose her. Maybe one day, when she has a daughter of her own, she will understand a mother's worries."

"It's an ungrateful act to neglect one's duty to the family and the family's-"

Shiro kicked Saburota's shin.

"She's lucky to have a mom like you, Moriyama-san. One day she'll understand that. And she will worry just the same with her sons and daughters."

"Daughters", she corrected, her smile faint but warm. "It's a strange thing that runs in the Moriyama family. We only ever give birth to daughters." She selected a deep purple string to tie the parcel with. "Women marry for sustenance, men marry for sons – it's how things have always been. That's how we got into this trade, too. My ancestors learnt the secrets of every tree and plant in the forest to sustain themselves, for no man would stay with them." She tied a fancy ribbon with four arches before she cut the string. "Ironically, that's also what made our fortune here." An apologetic smile turned her eyes down. "I'm getting old, I suppose, turning to nostalgia for comfort like this..."

"Good memories never age?" Shiro suggested with the hint of a smirk. "Honestly, I don't get people who look down on nostalgia. If you've got a nice life to look back on, well – good for you, right?"

"Rather than look back on better times, one should try to change the-"

Shiro kicked Saburota's other shin.

"My, you do look a little like him when you say that, Fujimoto-kun", Moriyama-san smiled into her sleeve. "If he was ever as young as you, that is… Do you mind this old lady indulging some more in her nostalgia?"

"Can't see why not." This time, a glance was enough to make Saburota shut up.

"You see, my great-great-grandmother was the first who knew Sir Pheles. We were forest-dwellers then, and he approached her one day in her orchard and said he could show her the Gardens of Amahara." Seeing as neither young man gave the appropriate _oh_ or _ah_ or _really?_ , Moriyama-san elaborated: "The Gardens of Amahara are the gardens of God, where all the kinds of flowers and trees He created grow. It's the dream in the heart of every Moriyama. Great-great-grandmother turned the offer down, however", she said, a streak of amusement playing hide-and-seek in her words. "I would have, too, I suppose. But he came back, bringing with him a flower that didn't look like anything on earth, and asked again if she would let him take her to Amahara. She was still scared, poor girl, but seeing that flower…"

Moriyama-san turned a gentle smile in the direction of the lush garden. Most flowers were gone by now and the gardens only green. Sayuri's words gained a sting of truth when one saw how Mayu smiled at her garden: like a mother watching her children at sleep.

"It still grows at her grave. Sir Pheles took her to Amahara for the price of twenty years of her life: twenty years that she would work at the school he was building, supplying exorcists with herbs and teaching them how they could be used against demons." She pushed the parcel over to Shiro with the softness of good memories warming her features. "It says a lot about Sir Pheles, that deal. Women back then couldn't earn their own money. By giving her opportunity to teach her skill and make profit from her produce, he essentially sold more than he was paid for. He will never admit it, but there's a human heart behind that smirk."

Shiro had a distinct feeling he was being given pieces from different jigsaw puzzles and asked to fit them together. One could call Mephisto many things, but philanthropist certainly wasn't one of them. It's not in a demon's nature to do anything without gain.

"That sounds awfully cheap for a demon. He didn't ask anything more of her than that? Or of her descendants?"

"He did encourage us to develop new compounds of herbs – that tea is one of them." She nodded at the parcel in front of Shiro. "I shouldn't give it to him, really: it's what keeps him up and working all day and night. It's an extremely strong blend that boosts metabolism and converts food to energy many times faster than usual."

Shiro turned over the parcel in his hands. Sped-up metabolism…?

"So that's why he doesn't get fat from all those sweets?"

Moriyama-san hid her laughter in her sleeve as was proper in older times. Saburota pushed his glasses up without a word.

"Well, he wouldn't have such a craving for sweets if he didn't drink the tea, but I suppose… he would certainly gain a lot of weight if he kept that diet without it…"

Shiro had his own quite vivid pictures of what she must be imagining. Moriyama-san trembled with laughter, little glittering diamonds taking shape at the corners of her eyes. Strands of brown hair undid themselves from her bun and curled into a spiral at her temple, making her look younger and less work-worn.

"You should wear your hair like that more often, Moriyama-san. Ever thought of opening up a confectionary business on the side?" Shiro suggested with a crooked smile. "You could make millions with a customer like Sir Pheles."

"No, I haven't. But I might. Thank you, Fujimoto-kun", she said, the warm glow back in her eyes. "I see there's a kind heart behind that smirk, too."

"Ha…? What smirk?"

She got that motherly look that made his heart stop and twist, wishing she _had_ been his mother.

"Maybe one day, when you have children, you will understand what I mean."

* * *

"It's prohibited to smoke in the Academy."

"I wasn't aware there was a rule against _almost_ smoking", Shiro replied, an unlit cigarette lolling up and down between his teeth as they walked.

"Fujimoto-kun, I have seen your records, and I believe there is a lot more that hasn't been recorded. Frankly, I don't approve of someone like you becoming an exorcist."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what you think. No, I don't do stuff by the book, but there's stuff you can't learn from books anyway." He gave Saburota a sideways look with one eyebrow hoisted. "But that's never occurred to you, has it?"

"You might want to change your tone towards people who outrank you."

"Rank doesn't mean anything where I come from; only how quick you are with a knife." He didn't miss the glance Saburota gave him: tense disapproval. Being afraid and hiding it. Very predictable. "And how well you judge your opponent. I think you could be pretty quick with a knife", he said casually, smiling crookedly around the cigarette, "but you really suck at judging people. Man, with all your skill and rank you couldn't even keep a conversation running without stumbling into every pothole in the way. Some things aren't learnt from books."

Saburota pushed up his glasses without a word, a gesture Shiro had by now attributed to discomfort and insecurity. Indeed, he had made quite a sudden switch in tone there. And Saburota had responded just as he'd expected.

* * *

Mephisto hadn't given him Todo Saburota for escort on a whim, no more than he'd given him detention with Katsuda Agari through coincidence. And whatever he had contracted the Moriyamas for, it sure wasn't charity.

The important thing with haughty bastards is to determine what that haughtiness conceals. Kita was most likely a genuine specimen, with a solid belief that his superiority over all other living beings was the natural order of things: that kind of haughty bastard is rare, either because there is a god or because nobody wants to reproduce with them. Saburota was the kind of bastard that used haughtiness as a shield to cover up timidity, or insecurity, or any other trait that could be called a weakness: more pleasant to deal with than the other kind, but also more unstable. While a genuine haughty bastard fills the otherwise empty haughtiness with belief, thereby making it solid, one that knows his pride is all smoke and mirrors becomes very volatile should the smoke dissipate and the mirrors crack.

Tossing the tea parcel up and down in his hand, Shiro pondered who was likelier to sabotage the academy – or save it. The genuine bastard or the false bastard? The latter, if he was any judge of things. The genuine bastard was already convinced of his excellence, while the false bastard had everything to prove to fill that empty pride with something tangible: like saving True Cross Academy from a demon invasion, or from a demon principal.

When Shiro returned to his dorm that night, all his belongings were standing in the corridor by the door.


	22. Camp arc: Girls are badass

"…and he answers then, 'I wanted to see from where creek flows'!" Midori finished.

"Yep, what ye need is a ward against stupidity", Shizuku chortled. "What did ye' folks teach ye? 'Don't go out at night, it's dangerous'. And what do ya do?"

"Okay, I'm as stupid as I look. I thought the barriers would keep out anything up to mid level", Shiro puffed with a smile, hands wedged in under the straps of the backpack to take some of the weight off his shoulders. Around them nature put on its most spectacular display of colours, chipping away the sky above with a foliage of bright red and gold.

"'round the academy, yeah." Shizuku's khakkhara jingled every time the end hit the narrow path, where the dirt had been packed hard from countless booted feet. "Not so much the town. Reminds me of another place where only the exorcists were worth protectin'."

Shizuku made no effort to be subtle about it as he glanced back along the line at Kita, who was making a comical effort to look unperturbed while flustered and sweating like a pig. Midori was trotting next to him now, cheerfully asking if he wanted her to take his backpack for a while. Kita's dignity replied with a composed "no", and added that it was enough that she carried Sen's already. Sen herself was busy throwing warning glances back at Agari, who looked even more like a soldier now that she wore hiking boots and carried a backpack. Last in line was Ryuuji. He fingered a ryuteki flute absentmindedly, playing a song in his head. He'd been quiet during the train ride, which Shiro had attributed to motion sickness, but the silence had stretched throughout the teachers' briefing and into the hike up the mountain. To say that something was up was to be blatantly obvious: they were even less of a team now than they had been during their first weeks in cram school.

"Was it that bad?" Shiro asked the only human on the team who wasn't dripping with sweat.

"It was worse. People were being torn ta shreds in the streets, and all the Yaonaru exorcists were holding a circle 'round their mansion: apparently, a fortified building needs more protection than defenceless people." The khakkhara jingled more aggressively as he stabbed the ground with it with every other step. "An' when all was over they'd come out o' their blasted bunker an' start treating the injured and dragging off the dead, like bloody spitting the villagers in the face – can't be bothered ta care about their friends and families unless they're dead, then it's fine!"

"Oi, watch where you're swinging that." Shiro leaned out of the way of the staff. "Where did you get that thing?"

"It's my dad's. Was my dad's. I had a word with Toshio-sensei, and he said Knights can also fight with khakkhara. So I'll Meister in Knight and Aria. Whacking things 'n shouting curses, that's my style", he grinned.

"I like you and your style."

"Hello again~" Midori never said out loud that they were slow, just heavily implied it by bouncing restlessly back and forth beside the marked track, making the pack-tower on her back sway dangerously with the motion. "I forgot to ask how are your shoulders, Shiro-kun."

"Lots better, thank you. Don't walk next to me, you make me look like a weakling."

Midori's purling laughter eased the burden quite a bit.

"Why not summon your familiar to carry you~?"

"Well, I'm an idiot, you see: I go into the forest at night and I don't use familiars to carry my stuff. I'm also thinking of trying Agari-chan's lunch when we take a break, but I'm smart enough to write my last will before I do", he puffed as they climbed yet another steep rise.

"You're cute, Shiro-kun", she giggled. She laughed even more when he almost fell on his face for missing his step on the rocky path. "What I came to say, Shizuku-kun: Kita-kun looks like flower on a rainless day. How far until we rest?"

"We should at least reach the uppa' tree line before we stop. He can take another hour."

"In this tempo?" Shiro grimaced at Shizuku's back as Midori bounced back to break the news to Kita. God, he wanted a smoke. "I don't like you anymore."

"Too busy liking Midori-chan?" Shizuku returned, sending a smirk over his shoulder.

"Jealous, Mr. Leaving-your-earthly-desires-behind?"

"Of an idiot like you? Not at all…"

* * *

The Hakkoda Mountains were breath taking in late autumn, even more so when they had climbed above the trees and could look out over the landscape. The shadows of clouds chased each other over the wetlands and the plains, and the forest they'd crossed burnt like wildfire. The air was blissfully clear up there, with that first hint of smoky cold that stung the nostrils and smelled like winter.

"This is a good place for a break", Shizuku declared. "We eat and rest, an' then we walk the last bit."

They all dumped their backpacks by the jutting rock and stretched out their sore shoulders, then began to rummage for their supplies. Midori gave the canned food one distrustful sniff and announced that she would get her own food. She snatched Ryuuji by the hand before he even knew what hit him, and the two half-demons disappeared back into the forest.

"Looks like ye've got competition, Shiro-cutie-kun."

Shiro tossed a rock at Shizuku. The pilgrim blocked it expertly with his khakkhara, but Shiro hit him with a second rock that he launched from behind his back through a flick of his wrist.

"She wants to help him", Sen said between nibbles of an onigiri. "Ryuuji-kun doesn't know how to be what he is."

"Well said", Shiro agreed, puffing gratefully on a cigarette while he opened his own food cans. "Any idea why he's been so quiet today?"

"Might've been afraid o' getting rocks thrown at 'im. Nah, I haven't got a clue. Maybe he's feeling some nerves? First time in the field and all. 'e doesn't look too accustomed to outdoor life."

"You probably won't figure it out on your own, so I will tell you right away: it's a test." Kita, now less flustered, didn't even look at them when he spoke. "Pages are taken on this kind of excursion under the pretext that it's a training camp, while in reality this is our Esquire exam."

"How do you know?" Shiro said, shooting Shizuku a warning glance. The tension had been there all day, and it would only take a spark to light it.

"My older brother told me before we went. The reason I'm telling _you_ is that exams are taken collectively. We all need to perform well, and I can't let you run around clueless and ruin my exam."

"Why, thank you graciously, Yaonaru-sama." Shizuku's voice dripped with venom. "For a moment ye had me thinkin' ye told us out of the kindness of ye' heart; thank you for reminding me ye don't have one."

"As if that kind of lame insult is even worth responding to."

Seeing where this was going, Shiro captured Agari's eyes and nodded discreetly. She lowered her chopsticks and bento slowly and kept a watchful eye on their teammates.

"Ye shouldn't be allowed to take the exam, ya cocky little prick! The one an' only goal for an exorcist is ta protect people, and yer family's shown pretty damn well ye're not interested in that!"

"My family is tasked with things common exorcists can't be trusted with", Kita retorted, the mention of family honour tinting the tips of his ears red. "Things a road-dust monk like you could never do. Oh, now you're going to attack me, is that it? Like some caveman who-"

Before Shiro had a chance to grab Shizuku, the huge goblin landed heavily between the two.

"Don't fight", Sen said serenely, still nibbling the same onigiri. "Understanding is the key. If we all understand each other, we can live peacefully together." The goblin turned to Shizuku in a manner that suggested he should _really_ make an effort to understand, immediately. "Shizuku-kun, why are you angry at Kita-kun?"

"Do as she says or her familiar might eat you", Shiro advised with a grin, seeing how the goblin showed the agitation Sen's own features lacked.

"His family protected their estate instead o' the people when their village was attacked by demons", Shizuku grunted. "My sisters and I were the only other exorcists there, an' we had to fight them off without _any_ help from the _dozen_ Yaonarus that lived there."

"Kita-kun, why are you angry at Shizuku-kun?" The great goblin turned around to stare at the lanky boy. The way its tail curled slowly from side to side looked bizarrely like a cat's, and Shiro briefly wondered how the goblin would react if he poked it.

"He makes accusations without knowing the full picture", Kita said, assuming an air of calm superiority. "My family's duties differ from other exorcists'. The attack was deemed severe enough to endanger a certain artefact in our keeping, and we prioritised the protection of that over the protection of the village. It was a rational decision."

Shizuku opened his mouth as if he was about to argue against that, but shut it again when the goblin's big head turned (did it have a body or was it just a head?) and one yellow eye glared sideways at him.

"Thank you, goblin." The demon disappeared, leaving Sen with a small, distant smile. "Now, can you two be at peace?"

"I can understand 'im", Shizuku said, his stance neutral but his voice tense. "But I don't agree with 'im. No old piece o' junk is ever worth more than a life." He sat down and resumed shuffling food into his mouth with the kind of stubborn focus that signalled he was done with the conversation.

"I suppose that will have to do", Kita concluded.

Midori returned a while later with food: namely, the limp body of a deer. Ryuuji trailed behind her, white as a sheet. Shiro would have laughed, but felt that more than laughter would come out of his mouth if he did: Midori promptly set to gutting, skinning and cutting up the fresh cadaver, and was soon up to her elbows in blood. That alone would have been fine, but her cheerfulness made the scene quite disturbing.

When it became clear that Midori was used to eating her food raw, Shizuku and Kita joined Ryuuji to admire the view from a comfortably far-off rock. Shiro thought of going, too, but was held back by Agari and Sen - or indirectly so, at least. All teenage boys are competitive in showing off in front of girls, whether they like it or not, and all teenage boys would rather puke their guts out than be bested by girls. And yet, his brave act couldn't hold a candle to Sen. The little Futotsuki girl summoned her familiar to share the meal with Midori, and while they quite literally stuffed their faces with dripping slabs of meat and elastic white fat, Sen watched it all with the expression of one watching kittens lap cream. She was, Shiro decided, more than a little creepy.

Fed and rested, they shouldered their packs and continued up Mount Odake, the highest of the sleeping volcanoes in the Hakkoda range. The rancid stench of sulphur and the memory of Midori's smiling face full of blood worked wonders for the lunch in Shiro's stomach. He was quite sure he would never feel the urge to eat again.

* * *

They set up camp by the water well not far from the summit and drew, with help from Sen, a large warding circle around it. She insisted on leaving the well itself outside the circle, however: the creatures that inhabited the mountain needed water, too. The objective was to locate and retrieve a seal from somewhere on the summit. In essence, they had half a day to hike up there, two days to find the seal, and half a day to hike back down.

"No way it's this easy." Shizuku scratched his head with the khakkhara ornament.

They had decided to take a look around the summit before the sun set, and barely had they walked a few hundred meters along the crater edge before Agari spotted a stone tablet inscribed with a seal. It was roughly thirty by thirty centimetres large, like a floor tile. It just stood there, upright beside the track, like a trail marker.

"It could be booby-trapped", Agari suggested, scrutinising the area around the tablet without touching it. "Perhaps it's resting on a pressure-sensitive trigger of some sort."

"So we get a really long stick and knock it over from a distance, in case it explodes?" Shiro asked.

"I doubt they would risk students' lives with explosives, and I don't see why it would be relevant for us to train against that kind of thing. It would destroy the tablet, too."

"I don't smell any explosives", Midori affirmed. "Don't smell anything at all strange. Lend me~?" She borrowed the khakkhara and pushed at the tile with the end. It tipped reluctantly from its surrounding support of rocks, but that was the extent of it. Underneath was just black, volcanic gravel.

"There has to be _something_ wrong with it", Kita muttered, eyebrows crinkled together.

"Yes. Here." Sen crouched by the tablet and put her finger on the seal. "These symbols inside the circle are wrong. The seal won't work."

"If this one is wrong, most likely there is another, somewhere, that's right." Agari looked out over the valleys, where the shadows of the neighbouring mountains had begun yawning wide and stretched out to sleep. "But that will be tomorrow."

* * *

It was a clear night, with the raw bite of autumn creeping over the ground. Still, Shiro sat outside his tent. They had all packed warm clothes and he wasn't cold, but the hairs were standing up on his arms all the same. Staring dreamily off into the stars was the kind of thing Sen did, but he wouldn't deny that this night sky was worth staring at. The Hakkoda Mountains were miles away from any city or electric light, and the sky… the sky…

" _I thought it only looked like this in the movies…_ "

The arms of the Milky Way swirled from horizon to horizon, like veils of fine chalk dust on a blackboard. Stars, more than he had imagined there could be, shone down coldly on the sleeping earth. The dome stretched wider than a human mind, enveloped the world as if to swallow it whole.

One thin, forlorn note rose from the darkness and chased shivers down Shiro's spine. Faint, it faded into the vast sky; then returned with a trembling, haunting call that wove barbed silk strings around his heart. Slowly, the world sank into the back of his mind, embedded in the sediments of the subconscious, and his body was lost somewhere between earth and eternity. The only reality he was aware of was the infinite sky, and the infinite sorrow of the lonely flute.


	23. Camp arc: Split

"Is not good", Midori announced, sniffing the air as they hiked from camp to summit the next day. "Is going to be snow."

"We'll just have to be quick then", Shiro said, blissfully unaware of how hard those words would be to chew when he was forced to eat them.

Quick was out of the question. They had come almost a third of the way around, finding four more flawed seals, when hordes of hobgoblins came crawling up over the edge of the crater. It was like breaking a spider's egg sack: they poured out, scuttling and skipping everywhere. Shiro reacted on pure instinct, pulling his weapon of choice. Ando-sensei had allowed him a "dummy gun" for the trip: a carbondioxide-powered, modified version of the paint guns used to mark trees in the forestry business. It didn't have the range or bite of a real gun, but the gelatine capsules filled with holy water wouldn't harm humans if he missed. The corners of Shiro's lips curled. As if he would miss.

Agari and Shizuku, both aspiring Knights, fought back-to-back on the path: one with a khakkhara and one with a wooden sword covered with rags soaked in holy water. Midori fought with nothing more than her claws, fangs bared and ears quivering. She kicked and slashed hobgoblins in all directions, and she was absolutely gorgeous.

"Why are they acting like this?" Kita shouted. He and Ryuuji, the other Doctor, were down on their haunches for cover behind Sen's goblin. "Hobgoblins aren't aggressive if they aren't provoked!"

"Demons are territorial", Sen said, her face blank. Her goblin bellowed and swiped at the attackers, more to frighten than to harm. "They don't mind humans much, but half-demons are sometimes seen as threats."

They never stopped coming. Milling like ants, all slobbering tongues and sharp claws, the hobgoblins spewed up from the crater and tore into them faster than they could hit or reload.

"Sen, give me one minute." Midori came skidding in behind Sen's goblin, clothes torn and blood caking on one torn trouser leg. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes in concentration.

A hobgoblin about as big as Sen's familiar came clawing over the edge, causing rock to crumble and clatter down the crater. There was thick drool oozing between the square, crushing teeth, and yellow eyes viciously searching for the intruders. Shiro blanched at the size of the thing and felt his index finger tighten around the trigger of his dummy gun. That thing wouldn't burst into miasma from getting hit. That thing would just get pissed as hell if he started shooting at it, and it would-

Before he could even finish the thought the giant hobgoblin rushed straight at Ryuuji and Midori, bawling like a crazed bear.

"Everybody get back!"

They threw themselves down the slope as a massive chunk of rock appeared out of nowhere and smashed down among the hobgoblins, causing the crater edge to cave and drag the demons down in a minor landslide.

"What happened?" Shiro stared wide-eyed at the gaping hole where the track had been. "Was that a meteor…?"

"Kitsune illusion magic", Sen said, adjusting her hair ornaments absentmindedly. Just what the hell...? "Whatever they imagine is real, becomes real as long as they believe in it."

"Ye pulling my leg or somethin'? I didn't see any meteor, just the ground giving all of a sudden."

"Same here", Agari added, a thin line of confusion between her eyebrows.

"The illusions don't work on humans of faith", Sen replied. As if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Still, that was awesome, Midori-chan", Shiro grinned, picking himself up. "Can you imagine anything? Anything at all?"

Midori rose with some effort, wobbly on her feet and looking more tired than she had after the P.E.-class with the dökkàlfr.

"Not big or complicated. Is only half kitsune, after all."

"I guess imagining a clear sky is outta the question, then?" Shizuku asked, looking upwards at the grey clouds. "'cause the snow's coming in now."

* * *

"Shouldn't we turn back?" Ryuuji shouted over the wind.

"We really should turn back!" Shiro agreed, holding the rim of his hood close around his face. "My glasses are caked with snow, I can't see a damn thing!"

"Oi, everybody! It's pickin' up! We need ta get inta the forest ta get some shelter from the snow!"

"We have to keep going!" Kita's voice was almost lost in the wind.

"Like hell we have to!" Shiro shouted back, lips numb and fingers freezing despite the gloves. "We'll either walk over the edge or be blown over it if we do! We have to go back to the forest!"

He only made out "seals" and "exam" from the reply, but knew perfectly well that Kita wouldn't let anything less than the apocalypse stand between him and Esquire.

"Come back here, you idiot! Or Midori-chan will imagine a rock over your head!"

The red winter jacket faded further into the flurry of white. The black jacket that was Agari shuffled after him, shouting his name.

"Sees goal but not road", Midori said, rubbing Sen's arms to keep her warm. "Not good, when road is full of holes."

"If it was up to me, he'd see nothing but stars", Shiro grumbled. "If that selfish idiot wants to get killed over an exam, fine – it's his choice. But I'm not gonna freeze to death with him."

Something rumbled ahead of them, low and harsh like a distant motorcycle engine. Stumbling over snow-covered rocks and their own freezing feet, they soon made out a black silhouette in the snow.

"Kita-kun got too close to the edge! He's down there!"

"Well, shit." Shizuku wiped at his nose. "Anybody got any rope? Midori-chan, can you imagine one?"

"Is not that strong, Shizuku-kun", she said miserably. "Rock was big."

The wind made howling noises over the rocky terrain, tossing drifts of snow into the air and blowing it into their faces. When she spoke, Agari's voice was sharper than the biting cold:

"I'm not leaving anyone behind."

"Agari-chan!"

The black jacket slid over the crater edge and disappeared in the whiteness.

"I will go, too."

"Midori, if you go the hobgoblins will target you", Sen protested. "You will put them in more danger."

"Is inside hobgoblin nest: they will be targets anyhow. With me, they have bigger chance." She patted her gloved hand on Sen's head. "They need my nose to come back to you."

"Agari-san doesn't need to come back. Neither does Kita-kun."

Shiro remembered Sen's face when Agari had detonated the grenade. She didn't wear that emotion now, but her voice did. She meant what she said, every last word of it.

"Would you rather let Agari-san be in the right~?" Midori cocked her head with a playful look in her eyes that made Shiro wonder if she wasn't as creepy as Sen. "Trust me. No goodbyes."

"Come back", was all Sen said: her big, maroon eyes said the rest.

"Oi, wait!"

Midori took an elegant leap down the crater.

"Oh, wonderful, let's all go die together! Now what do we do?" Frustrated? Oh Shiro was more than frustrated. This was getting absolutely ridiculous, honestly, what would they all accomplish by getting themselves buried in snow and eaten by-

"I… I'll go down, too."

"What? You can't be serious, Ryuuji-san. What are you gonna do down there? Play a song for them?" Shiro said, some part of his mind slapping him for the harshness of it. But it was stupid. So very stupid. They were all putting themselves at risk because one selfish bastard's pride was more important than his life? That wasn't teamwork, that was collective suicide!

"It's…" Ryuuji looked at the spot where the other two had gone down. He was terrified, but something even stronger tugged at him. "Agari-chan is down there."

"What…?"

Taking advantage of Shiro's confusion, Ryuuji slipped himself over the edge. Shiro stared blankly at Shizuku, still not able to grasp the situation.

"Agari-chan…? Is he suicidal?"

"He's in love", Sen smiled distantly. "And love is like Kita-kun: sees the goal, but not the road full of holes."

* * *

They could trace their footsteps back only a few hundred meters, then everything had been swallowed by the snow.

"Downhill should get us ta the forest!" Shizuku shouted from the lead.

"Or to a fifty meter free fall!" Shiro bellowed back, remembering the almost vertical drops in parts of the slope. "Use the staff to feel your way and we'll follow!"

Time is an elusive concept. Humans measure time in the change around them; in the transformation of a green leaf into a golden one, the slow breathing of the oceans that turns high tide into low, and the transfer of sand from the top half of an hourglass to the bottom. But impressions of the outside world are treacherous. If the leaf would not wither or move in the wind, if the water was still and the sand did not fall through the glass waist, a human would assume that time had stopped.

" _Time is an illusion._ " The tengu's words came to Shiro's mind as they stumbled ahead in the never-ending, blinding nothingness of white. The air cut his windpipe, made his lungs shrink and shiver in his chest. Snow melted slowly on his face and formed a cold, clammy sheen over his skin; skin that was so soaked with sweat under his clothes that he felt like stripping naked and rolling in the snow. Warm and cold, that's all there was and in all the wrong ways. No up, no down, no sky or stone or change. It could have been minutes, hours, days: he had no idea. He had no idea if the world was still out there or gone in the snowstorm. " _If there is a hell, it doesn't have time. No relief, no end, no-_ "

"Oi, there's someone there!"

Shizuku's voice tore him from his thoughts. Walking up to the pilgrim, he peeled soggy snow crystals from his glasses as best he could and peered where he was pointing. White. He was about tell Shizuku he was hallucinating when he saw a steady spot of black in the whiteness. It made him dizzy for a moment, trying to determine how far away the spot was, and how far up from the ground he couldn't see. The black thing tossed and rippled with the wind, but seemed attached to something unmoving in one end. Hair. A person. A…

"Hey, over here! We're over here! Can ye hear me? Oi!"

"Shizuku-san…" Shiro's voice had become frozen and muffled by the snow, like everything else. The person seemed to have heard them, though he couldn't make out… couldn't see…

"Izza woman, I think", he slurred, his lips numb. "She might be lost, too. Hey! Lady!"

"Shizuku-sa…!" His voice left him. All the warmth the snowstorm had siphoned from his body seeped back into him, glowing and soothing like the breath of angels on his skin. His thoughts followed his voice, swept away by the thundering wind and the beauty before him.

The woman – for a woman it was – came gliding through the snow like a wisp of smoke, a dream cast in flesh and clad in woven starlight. And suddenly there was no snow, no cold, nothing in the world that could keep him from her. Shiro plunged ahead, frantic to catch the dream before he woke from it. Her graceful arms extended for him, welcomed him, and the sky-blue lips parted as if to call his name.

Shiro yanked backwards. Snow caked in his jacket arms, in his boots, in his face, and he just barely caught his glasses before they were lost forever. A stinking cloud of mist shrouded him as the goblin gurgled and snorted. He kicked at it, shouted at it and tried to reach for his gun, but the demon half dragged and half carried him away, his backpack clamped between its teeth.

It didn't even let go of him when it started to dig. Shiro twisted and tried to keep as much out of the way as possible when the massive front paws tore out snow and gravel from the mountain. What had Kohu-sensei said about goblins? Spirits of earth that possessed moles and the like? The goblin had cleared a tunnel almost five meters deep in no time, curved to make a niche out of reach for the snow. It dumped Shiro there and gave a last snort, as if commanding a dog "stay". Then it hobbled back out into the storm.

"Yer a blasted idiot, ye know that?" Shizuku said minutes later when he and Sen turned the corner in the tunnel. "If anyone's got a death-wish here, it's you. What the hell were you thinking? Ye could'a been dead, ye dimwit!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, honestly", Shiro replied, scraping the last of the snow from his hiking socks. "I don't think I was thinking at all. But thanks for saving me."

"Summon your familiar", Sen said, her goblin already with her. "We need to keep warm."

Huddled together, they watched the snowflakes drifting into the straight part of the tunnel, and saw the light gradually fade as the entrance snowed over.

"I hope the others find some shelter", Shizuku muttered.

"They will", came Sen's voice in the gloom. "Midori knows the wilderness. She will keep them safe."

"You seem to know each other well", Shiro ventured. The short reply of "yes" reminded him that with Sen, you had to be explicit. "I mean one gets the impression that you've known each other before you came to the academy. Have you?"

"We met the first day, like all of you."

"Yeah, speaking of all of us… I get why ye don't like Agari-chan, an' I think none of us sympathizes with 'er after that thing; but what's ye' grudge against Kita-san?"

"He's a barbarian", Sen replied in her calm, detached manner. "His family is a band of murderers, like the Todos. They worship blood and war and killing."

"Ye mean them being exorcist families? That's not exactly murder."

"No. It's genocide." Sen's voice never changed, never betrayed a single thing of what she felt. "And like the murdering tyrants of the past, they put the maimed bodies of their victims on display as proof of their courage and power. That's what artefacts are, Shizuku-kun: a slain demon's hand or foot or eye, or the weapon that killed them. Symbols of death and suffering, worshipped as monuments to mankind's greatness." Sen turned to Shizuku so that her face caught the faint glow of the goblin's eyes, empty and eerie like a noh mask. "Say, Shizuku-kun: would you place the great bomb that hit Nagasaki, and killed hundreds of thousands, on an altar and praise it?"

"'course not! That's not what I'm sayin' either. Ye can't say that humans and demons are the same. They come ta this world, _our_ world, to usurp and destroy. If we didn't fight back there'd be no world fer us ta live in."

"Then, should we not also fight the humans who seek to usurp and destroy Assiah?" Sen smiled a faraway smile. "You need to look past appearances, man of faith. Good and evil are of the heart, not of blood or breed."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  Ahahaaa, fail… Tanuki can't interbreed with humans, I just learnt. x') Well, poor Ryuuji, it turns out he's a figment of my imagination in double sense. I will keep him like this anyway, and blame my lack of insight in Japanese folklore for the error.
> 
>  **The dummy gun** is something I just made up, but it shares origins with the paintball gun so we could call it a fictitious ancestor of the paintball gun...?


	24. Camp arc: Improvise

Having woken up to the stink of wet fur and human sweat in the blocked tunnel, the fresh air and clear sky was a blessing. Nobody felt like going back to search for the seal in this condition, but nobody said so. It was the last day of camp, and the last shot at Esquire. Shiro gathered a handful of pristine snow and rubbed the sleep from his face. God, he was sore all over…

"So, back up to the crater, huh? The others must've sheltered down there overnight anyway, we might as well go and meet them."

He didn't mention the possibility that the others hadn't made it through the night. He, too, wanted to believe that Midori's experience would pull them through, and he would hang on to that hope as long as circumstances allowed. As they readjusted to their soggy clothes and began hiking uphill, Shiro sent his shahrokh out to scout the crater.

Sen was in high spirits. The warmer weather transformed the powder snow into the slightly heavier, moister variety that was perfect for snowballs, and her goblin chased them like an overgrown puppy. Whenever they reached a snow mound they brushed the snow from the stone and checked for a seal. On their fifth stone, Sen declared that the seal was correctly carved and that it was an unspecified seal for demons of earth.

"Way ta go! Let's take this with us an' go look for the others. A hand, Shiro-san?"

They each grabbed a side of the stone tablet.

"Holy shi-!"

Shizuku and Shiro darted away from the stone, where the seal had suddenly flashed bright white and summoned a gigantic naga to appear. Its tail curled protectively around the tablet, and the head reared up to glare at them. The thing looked big enough to curl around an elephant and lift it.

"Oh, I hate snakes…" Shizuku groaned, his knuckles whitening around the khakkhara.

"I've only got half a mag left. If I can make it let go of the stone, can one of you scratch the seal?" Shiro held out his switchblade, holding the gun in his other hand.

"I can do it." Shizuku let out a long, shaky breath in the cold air and closed his eyes. He drew another breath, slow and steady as if meditating. "I'll probably shit myself, but I should be able ta do it."

"As long as you don't shit till you're done. Oi! Hey, you!" He waved his arms wildly to get the naga's attention. "I'm the one you want! Sen, can your goblin make some noise too? Oi! You big earthworm!"

When Shizuku had gotten close enough, Shiro took aim at the tail. Four shots. They wouldn't be more than pinpricks on a demon this size, but maybe enough for it to let go of the tablet.

One shot. The naga winced and swung its head down to look at the sizzling, smoking tail. Shiro placed the next shot at the base of its skull, to draw its attention from the tail. It hissed and turned at him, a long blue tongue flicking in his direction. The third shot missed; the naga's head had darted at the source of the annoyance. It couldn't reach him unless it let go with its tail, and with one shot left Shiro began drawing closer, hoping to lure it into doing precisely that.

" _Come on, come on… come here you big ugly caterpillar…_ " Shiro thought with some kind of light-headed focus that stayed in place despite his heart hammering in his throat. The naga followed his movements in ultra-rapid mode, eyeing him as if he were an unusually interesting frog. His arms were miraculously steady, given how his breath shivered. The barrel pointed straight between its eyes, one bullet between him and instant death. Slowly, slowly…

The big head riveted back to Shizuku, who had sneaked all the way up to the tail and the tablet. It dove at him, baring one foot-fangs that would be lethal even without venom. Shiro shot it in the neck, but it ignored him.

" _Fuckfuckfuck Shizuku get the hell out of-!_ "

A blur of colours swooped down from the blue sky, hit the naga over the nose and soared back up. The giant snake snapped at it, hissing and glaring at the new annoyance. Shizuku wasted no time throwing himself headfirst down the slope and rolled all the way to Shiro and Sen.

"You okay?"

"I hate snakes, god I hate snakes…!" Sizuku was one flailing pile of wet snow and curses, but he was in one piece and that made Shiro dizzy with relief.

"Just so you know, you look damn cool when you throw yourself down a mountain", Shiro smiled crookedly. The shahrokh landed beside him and looked very pleased with herself.

"Ye telling me to throw myself off a cliff more often?" Shizuku grinned back as he managed to untangle himself from the snow. "Here's ye' knife, by the way. Useless thing."

"Eyo, Sen! Shizuku-kun, Shiro-kun! Fine weather for fighting demons, yes~?"

The other four made their way slowly down the slope from the left, Midori and Ryuuji with a stretcher between them. Kita, apparently, was too bad off to walk.

"Shiro-san's missed ye, Midori-chan! Kept callin' yer name in his slee-" Shiro kicked some more snow in Shizuku's face.

"What?" Clearing the snow away and getting to his feet, he stared at the approaching caravan with raised eyebrows. "How are they doing that with Kita-san?"

"Carrying him on a stretcher, there something strange about that?"

"Yeah, if there's no stretcher."

And as soon as Shizuku had said that, the stretcher was gone and Kita fell flat on the ground.

Shiro stared in bewilderment as Ryuuji fished Kita out of the snow, while Sen ran over to Midori, who was clutching her head.

"I was told not to say anything of the stretcher", Agari said in level tones, an adhesive bandage adorning her forehead. It might be the cold, but she looked stiffer than usual. "Kitsune magic requires the demon to believe in its own illusion. It doesn't work on humans of faith, and apparently a human of faith can make the demon aware of the illusion and thereby dispel it."

"It's a horrible thing to do." Sen shot dark glares at Agari, arms cradling the groaning Midori. "Do you know how it feels to have your reality disrupted? Demons heal physical damage quickly, but mental damage…"

" _I_ didn't say anything", Agari snapped. Then she turned her attention to the naga. "Is that our seal?"

"Pretty much, yeah", Shizuku said. "Sorry 'bout the stretcher, Midori-chan. Won't happen again."

Midori nodded with a weak smile, still holding her head and looking a bit nauseous.

"We've tried to scratch the seal, but the naga protects it", Shiro summarized. "And I'm out of ammo."

"How incompetent are you?" Despite being carried by Ryuuji and having one leg and one wrist fixed with makeshift splints, Kita's haughty tone hadn't changed one bit.

"More competent than you, falling-down-a-hole-and-breaking-a-leg-san."

"Your ignorance is stunning", he returned with a smug face. "If I am correct in assuming that it is the complete version of the earth demon seal we have seen so far, it's a _seal_. And if you couldn't figure out what it does from the name of it, let me inform you that a seal binds a demon to a physical object. It's a leash, a prison. The only thing you will achieve by breaking it is setting the demon free to come after you."

"Okay, so what do you suggest we do, o wise and all-knowing cripple?" Shiro retorted, shooting a furtive glance at Sen. Had she known? She must have; she always scored 100% at Futotsuki-sensei's tests on circles and seals. And yet she had said nothing.

"Exorcise it", was his simple answer.

"How?" Agari inquired.

"We have two aspiring Arias", he sniffed, motioning at Shizuku and Sen. "Why don't you ask them?"

Shizuku grudgingly had to admit that he didn't know the fatal verses for nagas, but muttered under his breath that he knew plenty of fatal things that Kita could try. Sen replied, with cold that rivalled Agari in her best moments, that even if she did know the verses she wouldn't use them on a demon that had been forcefully tied to the execution block for the sake of a school exam.

It was, in a way, an execution. And yes, it was cruel. But sometimes you have to do what has to be done.

"Fine, so I have to lend you my expertise once again", Kita sighed impatiently. "The fatal verses are in the Book of Jeremiah."

"Yeah, an' if I don't know Jeremiah?" Shizuku replied, arms crossed. "Think ye could do something yeself, for once? It's not like ye have ta be able ta walk ta chant a few verses."

"Shizuku-san, I'm not going to be an Aria", Kita said in honey tones. "I haven't memorised all of Jeremiah, nor do I know exactly which verses apply to nagas. That's your job."

Shiro and Agari both held back Shizuku, who was hell-bent on "setting" Kita's bones properly.

"Oi, listen up! You too, hothead! I… I think I can do it!" Several eyebrows rose at Shiro's words. They all knew Aria was his last choice, maybe coupled with Knight. "Goggles-sensei gave me Jeremiah as punishment homework. I know half of it or so." He bit his tongue, trying not to look at Sen. "But as soon as I start, the naga will come after me. Jeremiah is damn long, but I need you to buy me that time. Hell, it might not even work, but I'm willing to try. Are you?"

Arrangements were hastily made. Midori used her magic to make what looked like a big wok pan that Shiro would sit in while she carried it. Agari used the rest of the holy water in her field bottle to squirt onto the snow around their last resort: a circle of defensive wards that Shizuku had drawn in the outskirts of the woods further down the slope, where they had been able to clear the ground of snow. That was also where they left Kita and Sen; the latter refused to be part of cold-blooded murder. Shahrokh was given instructions to divert the naga's attention as much as possible and keep it from harming them. That... was distressingly little, but it was all they could do with the resources they had.

" _This is the stupidest thing I've done in my life._ "

Shiro sat down in the wok pan and gripped its edges tightly. Midori lifted the pan up over her head, taking a few testing steps.

"You good up there, Shiro-kun~?"

"I trust I'm in good hands, at least", he smiled, somewhere between nervous and excited. "Let's do this quick and we'll have time for a bath in the hot springs down at the teachers' camp, yeah?"

"Is strange human habit, boiling yourself alive", she chortled, walking up towards the sealed naga.

"It's thanks to that I'm soft enough in the head to do something like this." The naga watched them come, tongue flicking in and out. " _I'm so gonna regret this._ " He swallowed the thought down and focused on breathing deeply as he went through the verses one more time in his mind. "If we're in a pinch just let me go and run, okay?"

"No goodbyes, Shiro-kun."

"What does that even mean?"

"Means we'll meet again." He heard a smile in the voice below him. "My mother always said so before mission."

Midori had stopped: so had the naga. It watched them curiously with unblinking eyes, trying to deduce what was the meaning of all this.

"The words of Jeremiah son of Hilkiah, of the priests that were in Anathoth the land of Benjamin…"

The naga struck. Midori dodged, and the pan tilted. Shiro glued his fingers around the edges as they skidded this way and that, and chanted steadily. The shahrokh dove down, narrowly escaping the naga's jaws when its head flicked to the side to meet the air strike.

Running back and forth worked well, until the naga grew so agitated it curled the stone tablet up in the coils of its tail. The tail smashed into the ground like a fist and threw fountains of snow into the air, forcing Midori into long jumps and hair needle turns. And at one point…

"No goodbyes~!"

She flung the wok pan down the slope. Shiro almost bit his tongue off when it landed, but kept the chant going through the jerking and wobbling. The metal surface skimmed over the fresh snow just as they had hoped it would, and he swished down towards the trees at terrific speed. The naga slithered a snow-frothing slalom after him, gaining on him, eyes ablaze with bloodlust. He almost lost his lines when the giant snake jerked violently to the side, tossing its head this way and that, the gap between them widening again: Midori had gotten up on the scaly body, hanging narrowly onto the slits between the scales with her claws.

" _That girl…_ " She was riding on the naga's head, holding it by the hornlike eyebrow ridges. And waving. " _If I survive this, I'll ask her out on a date. Hell, I'll marry her._ "

The improvised toboggan slowed to a halt a few meters short of the tree line. Shiro jogged into the warding circle, giving a short nod to the others to confirm that he was fine. Turning, he saw that the naga had shaken Midori off and was approaching fast. It winced when it reached the trails of holy water, but that didn't hold it for long.

The shahrokh landed outside the warding circle, cocking its head inquiringly at him. Whatever that meant. Shiro sincerely hoped he would say the fatal verses soon, for he was nearing the end of the part he knew.

Surprised voices almost broke his concentration. Looking up, the autumn-red trees had begun sprouting new branches and green leaves. Just like in the forest in True Cross Town. He looked back down at the shahrokh, who was still tilting her head in concentration.

" _Spirit of fertility…?_ " he thought thickly: as the trees grew, he felt increasingly fatigued and his head was starting to ache.

Soon the warding circle was reinforced with a cage of thick branches, twined and braided into an almost solid surface. It didn't take long before it shook with the first blow of the naga's tail. Shiro welcomed it: it sharpened his mind. The drained, dizzy feeling was almost overwhelming, but the infusion of more adrenaline cleared the fog; instead his brain seemed to be running at lightning speed, making everything around seem abnormally slow.

"…and I will kindle a fire in her forest, and it shall devour all that is round about her."

And when he said it, he knew it had been the one. Through the small holes in the wooden cage came wafts of dissipating dark miasma, just as it had when he had exorcised the demon possessing Yasuda. He slumped down on his knees where he had stood, thoroughly exhausted.

"Wow, Shiro-san…!"

"Well done, ye idiot!"

"Seems punishment homework did some good."

* * *

Sen's goblin pulled the stone tablet and most of their packs in the wok pan back to camp. Ryuuji carried Kita, and Midori carried Shiro.

"This might not be the most elegant way of asking…" He hung on her shoulder, smelling pine and warm earth in her hair.

"I know all about your elegance, Shiro-kun~"

"Right. You've witnessed its astonishing finesse first hand. I'm asking anyway: would you go out with me?"

"Go out with?"

"You know, the two of us going out: go to the night market, or to the cinema, or Mepphy Land…?"

"I'd love to!"

Shiro smiled into her neck.

"You were really cool, by the way. When you rode on the head of the naga."

"You looked small from up there. Like frightened fawn in wok pan", she laughed.


	25. Masterpieces

"How did we do on the exam?" Shiro asked as he sauntered past the newly added No Smoking-sign on the white double doors to the office, with an unlit cigarette wagging between his teeth like the tail of an expectant dog.

"Forty-five centimetres."

"The length of your hair curl?" he chanced a guess, pulling a paper tissue from his pocket.

"The height of the paper stacks I'm stuck with", came the sardonic response from said curl; it was the only part of the principal that was visible behind the wall of paper on his desk. "Did you get my tea from Mayu-chan?"

"Right here."

"Finally~ Ukobach."

There was a soft poof as the purple monkey with the apron appeared in front of Shiro, holding out its spotlessly clean kitchen mittens. It chirped happily as it accepted the parcel and disappeared. Shiro took the opportunity to shake out the tissue paper and blow his nose.

Behind the barricade of paper stacks, the curl froze like a deer sensing a predator.

"Don't tell me you've caught a cold?"

"I was in a _blizzard_. We all caught colds, save for Midori-chan."

* * *

"I think you're overreacting", Shiro said dryly.

"I think you're a highly contagious breeding-ground for microorganisms", Mephisto replied, although his voice came slightly muffled through the surgical mask.

"Oh come on, you probably can't even catch cold! I bet viruses die as soon as they enter your miasma-mutated former human body", Shiro argued from the farthest corner in the office, where he had been banished to an armchair, provided with a stack of tissue paper boxes and covered by a pink and polka-dotted blanket of merino wool that was as thick as an arm. The panda wastebasket hovered expectantly by his feet, which were resting on a hot water bottle that Ukobach had been called to fetch for him.

Overreacting wasn't even half of it.

"How rude. This body would be perfectly human if I left it, for your information. And to answer your earlier question, I'm reading the report on your exam right now. You all seem apt at the classes you've chosen and are likely to pass. Except you."

"What, you're failing me because I'm sneezing in your office?"

"Tempting, but no: you're passing", he said flippantly. "You haven't chosen a Meister class, though."

"No, I haven't. I'm thinking of Dragoon and Tamer." And thinking of lighting his cigarette, but Mephisto just might throw him out in the corridor if he did.

"What you think doesn't really matter, I'm going to sign you up for all five."

"Come again?" He blew his nose, then watched the wastebasket skip and catch the paper mid-air.

"Eins, zwei, drei!" The round table in the middle of the room rose a few centimetres up from the floor and hovered to stand by Shiro's armchair. "The map, as per your request, with tabs on the wards. Take a look."

Shiro stared at the map that covered the better part of the table.

"I didn't know you had kids."

Only then did Mephisto look up from behind the papers, with a face of idle confusion.

"Me, kids? I have a school full of them, I don't need any runts of my own to keep me busy."

Shiro's eyes fell back to the map of True Cross Academy: a wobbly, pink wedding cake subjected to several earthquakes. Around it lay the ramshackle sugar cube-houses of True Cross Town, with blue smoke spiralling out of the chimneys, green cloud-puffs and brightly coloured flowers marking the forests, and streets that were populated by red stick-figures with bumpy heads and smiling faces. At the top of the wedding cake was a stick-figure with a top hat (or a chimney?) and little fangs added to the squiggly smile.

Shiro covered his eyes, trembling with contained laughter.

"What?" Nope, Mephisto's face said he didn't get it. Didn't get it at all. "Don't even think of coughing on my map", he warned. "I put a lot of work into that."

"Oh, I can tell - I like it, I really do." Especially how it made him grin from ear to ear. "Why is the sun purple?"

"My little brother ate the yellow crayon."

"Your brother…?"

"He thought it was a pocky stick", Mephisto explained distractedly while scanning the desk for a document that wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"Brother, as in, _demon_ brother?"

"I certainly don't have any human brothers. And while babysitting is not my favourite pastime, family is family." Realising that Shiro's question might have sprung from concern, he added: "Not to worry, he won't harm the students. He knows I'll kill him if he does."

Shiro quietly decided it was probably a good thing that Mephisto didn't have kids.

In stark contrast to the artwork of the map, the locations of wards were marked with elegant handwriting in deep red ink. There was also penned, in neat figures, the dates and times when the wards had been compromised. It didn't take long to calculate that some were too far apart from one another for one person to tear them both within the noted times.

"So it's more than one guy, and because of that you want me to infiltrate all five Meister classes?"

"It's more than one person, in more than one year class", Mephisto corrected. "I conducted an experiment while you were away. These camps are normally held once a year, simultaneously for all cram school students; this year we sent one class at a time. Only the teachers knew of this. Students were told not to discuss the matter outside their class, with the pretext that it could compromise test results in exams."

" _To see if the sabotage stopped while a certain class was away…_ " Shiro blew his nose again, which made the wastebasket jump up and down excitedly. " _Huh. I wonder how long it would take to condition Pavlov's panda?_ "

"Over the entire camp period there have been no disturbances in the barrier. Meaning", an entire stack moved down into a basket labelled _Done_ , leaving visible a Mephisto whose eyes were framed by darker bags than usual, "that our saboteurs are well informed and well organized, and can be in any of the classes. Optimally, I would like you to advance enough in your Meisters to attend class with older students."

"Kita-san's brother knew when my class was going", Shiro remembered. "The Yaonaru kid. They'd been talking despite the ban."

"Is that so~?" His ears perked visibly, and the peculiar curl on his head twitched with interest. "Most interesting. Did you learn anything else from camp?"

"Sen-chan has a really nasty side."

Mephisto chuckled softly at that, as if it was something he knew well - and enjoyed.

"Didn't like the idea of killing a sealed demon, did she~?"

"Not only that." Shiro took the cigarette from his lips and twirled it around in his fingers. "She knew it wouldn't disappear if the seal was broken, and yet she didn't say a word when Shizuku-san and I were trying to break it. Same when Agari-chan and Kita-san had gone down the crater: she basically wanted to leave them to die."

"The Futotsuki never instigate conflict", Mephisto said casually, leafing through a report as if students leaving each other to die was no big concern. "But they will quite happily stand by in a conflict and let nature take its course, so to speak."

Ukobach returned, carrying a silver tray with a steaming kettle and two delicate teacups, a tiny cream jug and a sugar bowl the size of half a honeydew melon. The little familiar served Mephisto first, which prompted the principal to remove the stupid-looking surgical mask, and trotted over to pour Shiro a cup.

"None for my guest, Ukobach. He takes green tea with some lemon, sliced ginger and wild bees' honey." He glanced over the cup with a leer in his eyes as Ukobach bowed and disappeared. "Though it would be rather interesting to see the effects of this on a non-miasma-altered human body." He set down the cup with a satisfied smile. "What are your plans for Christmas break~?"

Shiro hadn't had any plans initially, but now that Midori had agreed to a date… and if that went well…

"I was thinking of spending Christmas with someone", he said guardedly as he put the cigarette back in his mouth, wondering where the principal was going with this.

"I'm guessing that someone isn't me?"

Shiro made some probably quite offensive grimaces before he regained control over his face.

"Why would I spend Christmas with _you_?"

"Because the Vatican says so~" he smiled pleasantly.

A paper plane left his gloved fingers and came gliding across the room: probably with the aid of magic, since no paper plane ever flies where you want it to. Shiro unfolded it and coughed into the crook of his arm as he skimmed the text. Japanese branch, True Cross, reports of disturbances, possession of student, Branch Director Pheles and eyewitness Fujimoto called for hearing on Christmas Eve. Signed with a spirally signature that was illegible enough to be very important.

"Why Christmas?" Shiro groaned as he tossed the letter on the table.

"They don't want to keep me from work, so they put the meeting on a holiday. They're kind, considerate people over there", Mephisto said with a smile so sincere it could be used in psychological warfare. "It certainly has nothing to do with forcing me to attend Christmas Mass."

Somehow, the thought of Mephisto being forced to do something was quite amusing. It was an impossibility in Shiro's mind that anyone could have mandate to give him orders.

"Do they really own you?" He tilted his head sceptically. "'Cause I don't think they do. _They_ might think they do, but I don't."

"Speaking as if I were a pet dog", he said dryly, thin eyebrows going up in an unamused expression. "There is no seal or contract that binds me, if that is what you're asking. People of the church tend to oppose that kind of… agreement~"

"Officially", Shiro added knowingly. "Whether they do it openly or not, they are accepting help from a demon. What I'm asking is why. Without contract or guarantee of any kind, why does the Vatican trust you?" He couldn't believe there was _nothing_. If what Agari had said was correct, there sure was an agreement of _some_ kind between Mephisto and the Vatican.

"Politics~!" The principal stirred more sugar into his cup with a devilish grin. "The lovely, twisted theatre of politics, where enemy becomes ally on no other grounds than having another enemy in common. They oppose Satan, so do I, and thus we become unlikely bedmates in a most scandalous affair~" He downed the cup, as if toasting the announcement. "To be perfectly honest, Shiro-kun, they don't trust me at all. Were they to find a human with the same qualifications I would be replaced in no time." His ever-mocking voice added without words that no such human existed, that the Vatican was stuck with him whether they liked it or not, and that he was immensely smug about it.

"At least one of us gets to spend Christmas with a bedmate", Shiro muttered. He accepted the steaming teacup Ukobach offered him and pushed the letter off the map. "Something caught my eye here. These wards here… Oh come on, I can't show you from this distance. You're not gonna catch cold from standing next to me."

It was funny, though. Mephisto approached him like a bomb technician approaches an unknown contraption. Shiro considered coughing a bit, but thought better of it since he held a cup of scalding hot tea.

"These wards here have never been destroyed. The area's labelled, er…" he squinted at the old-fashioned cursive.

"Maze", he read, swiftly plucked the cigarette from Shiro's lips and tossed it over his shoulder, making the panda leap for it like a soccer goalkeeper. "It's part of the internal defence structure of the academy, off limits to everyone."

"I hadn't even lit that", he said flatly.

"You're better off without it."

Shiro was sorely tempted to do something – yank his hair curl or set his goatee on fire – but suspected he would regret it dearly if he did.

"How's a maze a defence structure if the enemy is already inside the defences?"

"Not _a_ maze." Mephisto looked like the question was a personal insult. One that merited the sulkiest glare Shiro had ever received. " _The_ maze. The greatest maze ever built: das Labyrinth des Limbus."

"Is that German? Sounds like a trash can full of bolts being kicked down a staircase. I don't understand a word."

"Trash can!" The curl twitched indignantly. "German is a beautiful language with umlaut pluralisation and case marking and endless possibilities for affixed derivation, noble things that merit admiration beyond your linguistic understanding!"

"Yeah, I didn't understand a word of that either", he observed with disinterest, remedying an itch in his ear with his little finger. "And I don't get what's so amazing with that labyrinth-thing."

"It's a metaphysical maze, the only one of its kind; the epitome of magical engineering." Mephisto crossed his arms sullenly.

"If it's the only one, why does it say maze in more than one place on the map?"

"Because it's a _metaphysical_ maze!"

Outwardly, Shiro raised an unimpressed eyebrow: inwardly, he grinned.

"Time and space are like clay in the hands of those who master metaphysics", Mephisto grumbled and glared into the wall, his smirk having almost turned upside down. "It's the same maze in several places. The perfect maze, impossible to escape without my permission."

Shiro had to process that for a while, and in the end decided to divert from his taunt.

"Then the keys to the academy, the magical keys…?"

"Bend space, to transport humans around the defences."

"And you made them?"

"Who else?" he frowned.

"I have to say, that is pretty awesome", Shiro admitted, deciding that Mephisto had been sufficiently penalised for the cigarette.

"Of course it is~!" The principal was virtually beaming with pride, hands coming to rest on his hips in a display of puffed-up satisfaction. Any earlier damage done to his ego seemed to be immediately forgotten.

Shiro hid his smile by sipping tea – very tasty tea, one might add. Mephisto may be a demon, but he was… funny. Insufferable in his sudden mood swings, but in some peculiar way they also made him… likeable. Not to mention that his artistic aspirations were the most hilarious thing Shiro had ever seen.

"So with mazes and barriers, how does your little brother get in to eat your crayons?"

"Through the miracles of modern technology." He gestured at the phone on his desk; an object Shiro would have called 'monstrosity of modern  
technology' if he hadn't known pink was Mephisto's favourite colour. "He gives me a call, I let him in using the keys."

"And the Vatican is okay with that?" Shiro smiled with a raised eyebrow. They weren't okay with that. There was no way they could be. One demon on the payroll was bad enough in a Catholic Order, and they sure wouldn't have Mephisto's brother on it as well.

"The Vatican can't discriminate: same rules apply to me as to other exorcists, and nowhere does it say it's forbidden to see relatives", he snickered. "Even if they did protest they would have to bend to the advantages of it. My brother is an excellent source of news of what transpires in Gehenna."

"But whose side is he on?" Shiro used the teacup-cover again while he tried to fit the pieces together. "If he supplies information to you, but lives in Gehenna…?"

Was it correct information he supplied? Did Mephisto pass on all of it to the Vatican, or only the parts he saw fit? Did he give them the wrong information, even…? And did Mephisto in turn sell information to his brother…?

"Loyal to humans, to demons, or to family – who can tell~?" A smirk tugged the edges of his lips, only so much that the tips of his fangs could be discerned. "It's very hard to determine a demon's alliances."


	26. Sealed secrets

Since Shiro had been, to use the most gentle term, _evicted_ from his dorm room, he had moved in with Kita. While he had argued that he was fine with sleeping on the floor in the corridor, or in the attic, or on the roof, the dorm regulations had not allowed that. And since Kita was in his class, and there had been one bunk vacant…

" _I'll throw it out and say it was stolen. Or leave the window open while it rains…_ "

Shiro had asked Kita early on to turn his cassette deck off while they studied, and the only thing that had gotten him was a long and scientific explanation of how Mozart benefitted the learning process. It was also the first time he had heard anyone make footnote references in speech.

Shiro was pondering which would be most beneficial to his learning process – hauling the recorder out the window, or hauling Kita's crutches out the window – when somebody knocked on the door.

"Hello." Sen's big, empty eyes looked up at him when he opened. "Midori and I have been talking. We want to help you."

"Uh, with what…?" Homework? He sure could use somebody to spar with.

"Come."

Shiro had officially never been to the girls' dorm, and although he knew where the bathrooms were he had never actually been to one of the dorm rooms.

"I'm sorry about the naga on the exam", he said. There was no telling from Sen's face if she held a grudge because of that or not, but he suspected she might. He didn't want Sen to hold a grudge against him, in case he was the one that went over the edge of a crater next time and she didn't think it was necessary to bring him back. "Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and do things even if you don't want to. I think that might even have been what they were trying to teach us."

"You don't know what you did, Shiro-kun", she said softly. "One day you might, or you might not. We shall see."

Sadly, the girls' dorm rooms looked exactly like they did in the boys' dorm: two bunks, two windows, two desks. Though it was a bit unusual to see all the bed linens on the floor.

"Pillow-fight…?" he inquired.

"Midori doesn't like beds. She says she feels like the mattress will swallow her at night."

"Huh…" Well… if you've spent most of your life sleeping on the forest floor… "Where is she now?" he leaned on the desk, hands in his pockets and tried to smother the nagging thought that maybe Sen _did_ hold a grudge for the naga, and that she had lured him here to avoid witnesses. "What kind of help were you talking about?"

"She's practicing for Knight. She told me about the tengu." Sen seated herself on a flower-patterned zabuton and produced a tissue from the box on her bed table. She didn't blow her nose, just wiped it. "I told her about the yuki onna. She asked me to help you."

"With…?" Shiro led on.

"With your problem."

"What problem?"

"Only you know what your problem is", she said dreamily. "What I know is that you have one. Demons live in the human heart. That is how they possess us." Sen placed a hand over her chest where her tattoo was. "Demons always see the truth, Shiro-kun. You can't hide the darkness in your heart from them as you do from us."

"Oh, I see. My problem." He shifted his weight to the other foot. He wouldn't deny that he had… darkness. He wouldn't deny it was a problem, especially if it attracted demons. Yet Sen wasn't a person he felt like talking about that with. "So what do I do? I root it out, like a weed?"

"No." Sen's head shook slowly from side to side. With the tissue covering her nose and mouth she looked like a ghost owl: the big, eerie eyes never left Shiro. "Darkness is part of the human soul. It doesn't go away. Pretending it's not there only lets it to grow stronger, and then it will control you. Acknowledge your darkness, and let it be part of you: that way, it is under your control. That way, you can at will open or close the door for demons that would possess you. That is how we, the Futotsuki, bond with our familiars. We let them tap into our darkness, be part of us without controlling us, and through that they come to understand us. And we them. We were not always exorcists; only when there was a need. Before that, demons were our comrades, our friends, our family. We lived in peace together because we understood each other." An idle smile skimmed her lips. "A human can never see into the heart of another, never fully know or understand another human being. A demon can."

"So what should I do about my problem? I understand the theory of it, but I don't see what I can do."

"Look it in the eye. Go to the things inside that you don't want to see and look at them. Look until they lose their power over you."

Shiro grimaced. Sen's words had sent his thoughts that way already, and they recoiled from the memories like a child burnt by fire.

"I think I get it." Silence. She didn't move, hardly even blinked. Shiro could feel at ease around almost anything – hostility, friendliness, nervousness, fear – but this utter lack of emotional display…? It made his skin crawl. "Um, anything else, or should I go…?"

"You may go", she chimed. A soft smile spread on her lips. "Midori said that next weekend would be good for going out, if that is okay for you."

"Oh." Shiro grinned wide. "Tell her next weekend will be perfect. And thanks for the help."

Best news of the week, man. Shiro cleared the corridor with a bounce in his step - and barely had he rounded the corner for the exit when he met Agari. She had just come back from training too, judging from the sweat on her brow and the wooden sword in her hand. Her nose was a painful red.

"What are you doing in the girls' dorm?"

"Why, nice to meet you too", he smiled good-naturedly. "Should you be training hard with that cold?"

"I don't like sitting idle. And I asked you a question."

"I was just paying my date a visit."

"Date? The half-breed girl?" Agari's face set in stone.

"Don't say it so Sen-chan hears you", he warned with a smirk. "By the way, how are things with your secret admirer?"

"My what?"

She didn't know? Shiro's grin grew wider.

"Oh, I shouldn't spoil the surprise, then. See you 'round~"

He sauntered past her, waving over his shoulder.

* * *

It was colder outdoors now. The snowstorm in Hakkoda had been an early one, but autumn had definitely given way to winter. The few students he met all wore coats and scarves, huddling close together and glancing furtively at the grey sky.

" _Acknowledging the darkness?_ " He pulled his school uniform blazer tighter around him, coughing into his sleeve. " _Sounds like something out of a manga. And it's advice from Sen-chan – what to make of her? I can't even tell if she hates my guts for the exam or if she's made her peace with it._ " He would have to try her advice, though. There was no helping it. An exorcist couldn't be wide open to demon influence. " _Pff, as if I'm not already_ ", he thought, a certain pair of heavy-lidded, forest green eyes coming to mind. If demons could see into one's heart... Yeah, he definitely needed to try out Sen's advice. Another train of thought spawned from the same source: " _Am I starting to consider becoming an exorcist...?_ "

It wasn't that far-fetched, really. He was a good shot, he had a familiar, he could keep his head cool - well, maybe not around humans... One step at a time. Deal with the demons first. His steps were small and unsteady, like a kid who's fallen off a bike once hesitantly puts his feet back on the pedals. Where to start? At the beginning or the end? Where it burnt the most or the least?

He couldn't remember his mom's face. The realization made him stop dead in his tracks, misty breath clouding his glasses. He could see her back when she stood by the stove, hear her voice and see her hands when she moved the chopsticks at dinner, but he couldn't see her face. Had it been that long…? Shiro resumed walking.

His dad's face brought the first seething ember to life in his chest. The ruffled hair that matched his, and the laughing lines around his mouth and eyes… He had friendly eyes, honest eyes, eyes that made Shiro's shoulders stiffen. He held that image in his mind, looked at it, but the anger only burned fiercer. It was outside his will, he realized: anger was his automatic response to this, like swatting away a knife stabbed at him. And the Futotsuki way was to let the knife strike home…?

" _Dammit…_ "

He left his dad, sought his mom, found her on the futon: sleeping. Yes, he'd thought she was sleeping. He'd only been ten, it hadn't yet become a possibility in his world that people could kill themselves. That ordinary pills from the bathroom could make you fall asleep and never wake up again. He didn't see her face then, either. He felt the weight of the blue and orange backpack he was carrying, and the fibres in the tatami mat under his feet; everything from that time was clear and sharp, except her face. He saw her wedding ring, saw her hand resting on a chest that didn't rise and fall as it should have. And he should have cried, should have mourned, but the lump in his chest had caught fire and instead he'd screamed… broken things, beat other kids up…

" _She shouldn't have died_ ", he thought, feeling his teeth clench as his body remembered. " _Damn you for dying without even putting up a fight. I hated her for giving up, for being so weak…_ " Shiro closed his eyes, tasted the bile of old resent and pent-up disappointment. " _I hated her for accepting what he did. Quietly. Looking the other way. Pretending everything was fine._ "

He held on to the memories of his mother as long as he could, but it was like holding your breath underwater: the burning tightness in his chest, his heartbeat thumping against the inside of his skull, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped…

" _I can't do this._ " He came to a stop outside his porch, trembling, feeling like he was in all places and all times at once. Fragments of memories bombarded him and stretched his thoughts thin over the yawning chasm, dismantling him quietly where he stood. " _I can't go in to Kita-san like this. I can't go in there and pretend I'm fine and all is normal. Like they did. Day after day, like a theatre, with no secrets and no false promises…_ "

To his horror, closing the door once it was open wasn't as easy. Memories jumped out from every dark corner, dragging his struggling thoughts back to the graves he'd tried to bury them in. Sen was right: darkness grew stronger when ignored, and it would control him if he didn't face it. He would put up the fight his mother hadn't. He'd promised himself long ago he wouldn't be that weak, hadn't he? That he'd look the ugly truth in the eye, always – and yet he'd done the same. Pretended it had never happened. The most convenient way of handling an inconvenient matter is to look the other way and remain silent.

Shiro had learnt to fight people of flesh and blood and be in control of the world around him, but inside…? Inside, wits and knives and dirty tricks count for nothing. When the opponent is your own dark shadow, there is no other way but to fight fair and hope that you are stronger.

He started planning. Planning is great for organizing thoughts. It brings order to chaos, herds the sheep in line, forms a thin red thread to hang on to.

He would study for all five Meisters and spy on his classmates as he did. Kita was the main suspect for now, but he was disabled and wouldn't yield anything but oral evidence, if he could be made to talk. If Mephisto told the truth about the Vatican's lack of trust – which did sound like truth – then Agari was a suspect, since she appeared to have or have had contact with the Vatican. A plot on their behalf to provide an excuse for getting rid of an unwanted ally, perhaps? Then Christmas could get quite interesting… Midori and Ryuuji had been found in compromising situations, but other than that there was nothing on them. Midori didn't like Mephisto, sure, but she didn't have the contact network to pull off an operation of this size. The ones who did were families and clans of influence, like Yaonaru, Todo, and Futotsuki.

Todo and Yaonaru definitely were candidates: strict, effective, proud, competitive, potentially ruthless. Yaonaru slightly more suspicious, since there was one in his class. Futotsuki? He didn't know what to make of them. Sen had the motives and the contacts for being part of a conspiracy against the academy, but her thoughts…? And if the Futotsuki weren't in the habit of instigating conflict… Shiro's thoughts roamed back to the camp, tried to recall everything Sen had said and done, tried to deduce…

" _I wonder… if I've been doing it wrong all along…_ "

Shiro entered the dorm, hurried his way through the stairs and corridors. Kita was in, so he just grabbed his books and went to sit in the empty dorm kitchen. _Comprehensive Demonology for the 20th Century_ was left untouched, and instead he opened _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_ , a dust-dry brick of a book that was basically all about seals and summoning circles. Sen had told the wrong seals from the right one by looking at the little details of the symbols in the circles. Futotsuki-sensei had stressed the importance of getting the details down correctly.

It just might be so that he had been looking at the details, not the whole thing.

Reaching the last pages of the book, Shiro turned it ninety degrees sideways and found it: Mephisto's ward. It wasn't a ward in itself, but a single symbol taken from a seal: the Secret Seal of Solomon. He turned the book again and read. " _'...by which he bound and sealed up the spirits with their legions in a Brazen Vessel.' Why would he…?_ "

Shiro fumbled for _Comprehensive Demonology_ , thoughts racing three steps ahead of his fingers. He flipped it open and retrieved the map he'd hidden there, then spread Mephisto's colourful rendition of the academy over the table. _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_ next to it, he traced lines between the wards with a trembling finger. Two concentric circles… a horizontal strike through the inner one… a semi-circle, and… The seals were the same. Mephisto wasn't keeping anything _out_ of the academy: he was keeping something _in_ it. And whatever it was, it was powerful beyond imagination. The Secret Seal of Solomon could bind entire legions of demons, and this seal was large enough to cover True Cross Academy and parts of the surrounding town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **A bit of trivia** that some might find interesting. I procured a copy of _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_ for this, along with a few other works. Go back and check the seal Neuhaus uses to demonstrate summoning in the second volume: that is taken from Clavicula Salomonis Regis (though it's not a summoning circle, it's a circle to protect the summoner from the summoned spirits). I sqweed quite a bit when I realised Kato and I are using the same sources. x3
> 
>  **Yuki onna** is a snow lady. Keep veeeery far away if you're a man (though I guess women could be targets, too).


	27. The date that wasn't

There is a practical reason that exorcists usually only Meister in two classes at a time. If you try for more, sooner or later you will find that you've put your pen in the toothbrush cup, your toothbrush in the laundry, and your socks in your pen satchel. When the weekend finally came, Shiro felt like a marathon-runner crawling over the finishing line on all fours. With no socks.

" _If I just make it till Christmas break…_ " He made a symbolic attempt to straighten his tie in the mirror, trying hard to ignore the voice in his head that said the purplish bags under his eyes made him look more and more like Mephisto. "Oi, I'm going out. Don't know when I'll be back, but I've got keys an' everything."

Kita nodded: end of exchange. He had hardly said a word to Shiro since it became known that Fujimoto Shiro had applied to all Meister classes. It wasn't hard to guess why. Kita was number one in their class, and probably had been number one in every class he'd ever attended, and when a new male challenges the alpha male over his territory…

Shiro didn't have the energy to try and sort things out with Kita. Maybe over Christmas, if he was in school when they came back from Rome…

" _Or I'll just sleep through break_ ", he amended when the keys he had thought he carried in his pocket turned up in his left shoe.

"Shiro-kun."

He had barely come outside the boys' dorm when Agari's tall, busty form addressed him from under a tree beside the walkway.

"Why hello, creepy-stalker-chan. I'm already on a date, technically, but you can sign up on the waiting list."

"Always playing tough, acting like you don't care and causing a ruckus." She didn't sound accusing, or condescending, or any such thing one could have expected: no, she sounded like a doctor reading a patient's test results. "I recognise an orphan when I meet one." She stepped out on the path, arms crossed and face stiff as it usually was. "I don't need to tell you what you really feel, inside. I just came to tell you, one orphan to another, that you should think twice before you go on that date. That _creature_ you are going to see is just as capable of killing and deceiving as a full-blooded demon."

"So far, that _creature_ hasn't moved a finger to harm anyone. _You_ , on the other hand…" He kept his hands in his pockets, kept his voice relaxed. She didn't know shit about what he felt inside.

"I'm not here to start a fight, Shiro-kun. I want to warn you. The half-demon that orphaned me had never moved a finger to harm anyone, either; until one day he was overcome by instinct, and mangled the bodies of my parents and my little brother." He could see it now, as if her words were the key to the inside of her rigid facade: the memories that didn't go away, the anger and the helplessness that fuelled her fire, and the callousness that justified any means to the ends she held for right. All the signs of an orphan trapped by the past. "Most of them don't _intend_ to harm: but they do, eventually, because it's in a demon's nature to destroy. What will you do then, if you feel for her? Will you do your duty as an exorcist? Or will you beg her to see reason while she carves you up like a pumpkin?"

"Was that what your parents did?" Shiro regretted it the moment the words were past his lips. He regretted it so hard and earnestly that time should have taken pity and rewound, but time does not feel pity or compassion.

Agari's icy shell cracked audibly, leaking a mixture of emotion onto her face that made Shiro cringe.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Shiro could hear every tooth in his skull rattle from the blow. Agari held back nothing, to the point where he thought he heard her knuckles pop and dislocate.

"I was wrong", he heard her say through gritted teeth: her knuckles probably had dislocated. "You're a perfect match for demon filth."

She stomped off in the darkening afternoon, and he watched her go. There was nothing in the world he could have said.

" _I just can't fucking believe myself…_ " He ran his tongue around his mouth, tasting blood but finding no damage to his teeth. He spat, almost wishing he had sustained injury. " _The hell am I doing? At this rate I won't get snuffed by a demon, rather my own teammates…_ " He put a cigarette to his lips – out of habit, out of turmoil, out of comfort…? " _My hand's trembling?_ _Shit…_ " He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in the back of his head. " _I'm really… man, I just mocked her dead parents…_ "

Feeling like the biggest asshole in the world, Shiro walked on towards the girls' dorm. At least he had to tell Midori that the date would have to be postponed: he had to go back and apologise to Agari, sort things out. Somehow. If that was even possible. He had no idea what to say, but he had caused the mess and he was going to clean it up.

* * *

"Postponed?" Midori's head tilted to the side curiously. She wore her uniform skirt but had replaced the customary shirt with a baggy jumper, and she looked adorable.

"Yeah. Sorry. It's not your fault. I messed something up that I have to take care of."

"You smell of blood." An unusually serious expression settled on her face. "What happened?"

" _Well, why not? She might even help me figure out some way of apologising._ " He drew a breath of cold air. "I had a fight with Agari-chan. Or, well, I was being a dick and she punched me. She had every right to. I just…" he spread his arms helplessly while his hands were still in his jacket pockets. "I have to come up with some way of saying I'm sorry to her. I was awful. I didn't mean what I said."

"What you said?"

"…it's not gonna sound good. It just popped out of my mouth, okay? She'd just told me her parents were killed by a half-demon." Was this a wise thing to talk about? He was tired, he really should have learnt not to talk to people when he was tired… but his mouth kept going. "She said half-demons weren't to be trusted – and then she said that you could snap and go crazy, too. And she asked, if you did, what I would do: if I'd put you down as an exorcist should or if I'd beg you to see reason while you carved me up like a pumpkin." He dared a quick glance at Midori: she was listening attentively, but other than that he couldn't tell. "And then I… I don't mind if you too smack me for this: I asked if that was what her parents had done, when they were killed." Shiro shook his aching head. His jaw was going to be various shades of purple for the next few days. "I don't know why I said that. Hell, I don't know why I'm saying it to you now."

"Silly." Midori flicked him playfully on the nose. "Is darkness speaking, because you are stupid. You don't sleep." She traced semi-circles under her eyes to show what she meant. "You go with all Meister. You make yourself weak while you train like Futotsuki. Stupid stupid. Darkness is misery, wants misery and makes misery." She shook her head at him, smiling. "Come. We talk to Agari-san."

"We?" Midori had already seized him by the arm and was half dragging him back the way he'd come. "Last time I checked you weren't on the best of terms either."

"If you go yourself you make more trouble. Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun~" she winked, her long tress of hair bouncing against her back.

"Oi, I _can_ think", he grumbled. "I just… Thank you, I suppose…"

They walked at brisk pace, following Midori's nose from the tree where Agari had waited for him. It turned out she had walked back to the girls' dorm area following a lengthier route, arriving at another one of the buildings. Midori bounced up the stairs so fast she almost dragged him after her, and wasted no time knocking on the door to room 71.

Shiro didn't recognise the girl that opened: he rarely recognised girls with A-cups, only if they were insanely pretty. This one wasn't. In fact, he would've taken her for a guy if she hadn't lived in the girls' dorm. Her brown eyes roamed them critically and landed on Midori's ears.

"I see. The female half-demon from Esquire class." Next she noticed the blooming bruise on Shiro's jaw. "And the blonde jerk."

"Not gonna argue with that. And you are…?"

"Komui Natsuya, intermediate second class Doctor and Dragoon."

"I could say pleased to meet you, but if you have half the punch Agari-chan packs I'd rather not take the risk. I was wondering if she's here?"

"She is." Natsuya raised a thick black eyebrow. "The question is why you are here."

"Shiro-kun needs to apologise. Can we talk to Agari-san?"

Agari was sitting on Natsuya's bed, her right hand secured with bandages. She didn't say a word when they entered, nor did she need to. A tang of antiseptics hung in the room, which was sparsely furnished even by dorm standards.

"About what I said, earlier. I-" Midori grabbed him by the neck and pushed him into a bow. Damn, she was strong…! "I'm really sorry. I never meant to say that. It was a horrible thing to do."

"And I want to thank you." Midori bowed next to him. "You don't want Shiro-kun to be hurt – is good thing, kind thing. Please forgive him. He has quick mouth and slow head."

"Get up already!" Agari snarled, looking for all the world embarrassed by the situation. "You have nothing to thank me for", she said, glaring at Midori. "And spare me your ingratiating displays. You – I know you're an idiot." The glare burned into Shiro next. "A gigantic, blabbering idiot. You might want to think about changing that. I forgive you this time, but next time you feel like opening your mouth in my presence you'd better _think_ before you do."

* * *

"How can you thank her?" Shiro wanted to know once they were outside again. "She tried to kill you, dammit! Did she even thank you when you went down the crater after her?"

Midori merely smiled at him, her feet so light on the grass she was almost dancing. That she still walked barefoot at this time of year…

"A smile is the strongest weapon, Shiro-kun~" she winked. "Is why they say demons are tempters, yes? We smile, and you lose head. We say what you want to hear, and you nod like puppets." She twirled around, poking him lightly in the chest while wearing that playful smile of hers. Sweet lord, didn't she remind him of Mephisto…? "Smile can be like slow dagger, slipping in between ribs, not noticed until it hits your heart~" Her clawed finger slid slowly over his jacket, tickling the flesh underneath. "Is dreadful thing to use smile for. Is dreadful way to kill. But for dreadful people…" She rose up on the balls of her feet, gentle as a sunrise, to whisper in his ear: "For dreadful people, that would kill in dreadful ways, smile is worthy dagger~" She sank back, her hands resting on his shoulders and her smile a little less sunny. "I would not use smile that way, but if she tries again to stab, my dagger will strike first."

He doubted he understood half of what she said.

"So next time I see you smile I'd better run like hell?"

Midori laughed, and suddenly it was summer again.

"Your thinking is so funny, Shiro-kun!" She beamed like a kid. "Smile is for making friends, for making family. Smile is for everyone. Smile is only dagger when someone has taken up dagger already. No dagger from you: no dagger from me, hm~?"

"Man, aren't you weird?" he chortled, following as she resumed bouncing and twirling along the walkway. "It suits you."

"Mm-m, how can it not~? Is me." She cart-wheeled up on a bench, tip-toeing gracefully along the backrest. "How goes your training then, Shiro-kun?"

"Fine, except for Knight. Which you already knew", he added sheepishly, remembering that Midori also meistered in Knight. "I just can't use a sword the way Toshio-sensei wants me to."

"You lack spirit of samurai, sensei thinks~ Is true, though. You are ninja; kicking in weak spot and striking with hidden blades." She winked at him and dismounted the bench with a back-flip that would have fetched 9.8 in the Olympics. "But what I ask is your Futotsuki training. How goes that?"

Good question. He tried, every night before he went to sleep, to go back to unpleasant memories. They were always unpleasant. Nothing changed about that, and he suspected nothing ever would. He couldn't forgive his parents, and he couldn't change the memories, so what was he supposed to do?

"I don't know how it's supposed to go in the first place. 'Look until the darkness loses its power over you', she said, but how do I know when that happens?"

"When it doesn't leap out like frightened rabbit. When it doesn't tie your tongue. Try telling me and you will see~"

"Tell you about… what I don't want to remember?"

Midori nodded animatedly.

"Right…" He plucked the unlit cigarette from his lips – and suddenly, words were something he'd known in another life. Finding the right ones and piecing them together was a mysterious science buried in the ancient pyramids of Egypt, or some other distant, unreachable place.

" _My mom died when I was a kid_ ", he said with silent lips. " _Dad made off with all our money, and she killed herself. He was a jerk, a lying bastard son of a…_ " And suddenly it stung, like a poison wasp, and his chest tightened around his lungs. More memories, older memories, buried the layer beneath the bad ones: his dad teaching him to ride a bike, helping him with maths, playing soccer, kissing his mom's cheek… Ironically, it's the best memories that hurt the most. " _He was always so nice to me… How could he smile? How could that asshole smile like that when he…?_ " His chest tightened to the point where he could barely breathe, and no words came out. "I can't… Shit, I…"

He'd been a great dad. The kind of dad that rather saw his son happily chasing ducks in the park than droning over homework. Playtime over duty, pleasure over plight: the kind of man who doesn't clean up his mess, who turns to run when it builds too high, and is crushed under its weight when it collapses. A great dad, and an irresponsible, cowardly bastard of a human being.

"Keep training, Shiro-kun." Midori's hand ghosted against his shoulder. "Is bad, but does good. Let me know how you do and I will help, yes? Now, do I stay, or leave?"

He shook his head, glaring at the ground, struggling to control his vocal cords.

"Leave. I'll be fine."

"You will", she confirmed, darting back to her dorm.


	28. Toys

_I will pick you up at the main gate tomorrow, ten a.m._

Shiro yawned wide, sending smoke into the air without the aid of a cigarette. It was almost ten-thirty a.m., and Mephisto hadn't shown up. It made him very uncomfortable. If he was going for a surprise-behind-your-back again Shiro just might stab the clown now that he had the knife back on him. Numerous taxis had already gone past, the sun was peeking around the Academy complex and unceremoniously poking him in the eye, and where the heck was…

" _What was I thinking?_ " Shiro cracked up when he spotted a bright pink limousine narrowly clearing the corner. What had he expected, really…? "Oi, good morning, show-off! Custom ride, I take it?" he grinned. Apart from being very, very pink, and almost too long to drive around corners, the customary Spirit of Ecstasy that adorned all Rolls Royce bonnets had been replaced with a little bat-winged devil.

"Naturally~" The door opened on its own, revealing an interior more like a suite in a luxury hotel. "Though I have it mostly to annoy an old friend who's held a grudge against Rolls Royce ever since they bought up Bentley." Mephisto sat in the back with the air of a true, ostentatious aristocrat that begged to be slapped in the face.

"Admit it, you have it because you like flashy toys. When does- What happened to your clothes?" Shiro asked as he shoved his suitcase into a corner and seated himself.

"What is bound to happen when a uniform is designed by people who haven't worn anything but cassocks since the days of the Roman Empire", he lamented, adjusting a strap on the sleeve of his white coat with a look of dismay. "The Vatican's fashion sense is beyond salvation."

Shiro had been about to say he looked almost sensible; polka-dotted cravat notwithstanding.

"Do you ever dress in normal clothes? As in a shirt and long trousers…?" Shiro couldn't really picture that. Mephisto looking normal wasn't Mephisto.

"I always wear a shirt, under my tailcoat. Regular trousers I avoid as far as possible. Makes my legs look too long for my body."

" _Don't ask about skirts, don't ask about skirts, don't ask about skirts…_ "

"You're making a very strange face right now, Shiro-kun." Mephisto eyed him with suspicion. "You're not going to be car sick, are you?"

* * *

Shiro had never been outside Japan and had never had reason to visit an airport. There were a lot more people than he had expected. Most of them were men in dark grey business suits, milling about with leather document portfolios, hair parted to the side and stiff, professional faces. Anonymous like ants in an ant colony. He didn't really know what that metaphor made Mephisto. Something from outer space? He sauntered in dressed all in white, by far a head taller than anyone else, with deep purple hair and a garish pink umbrella for a walking stick, all the while whistling the opening theme for _Cutie Honey._ Shiro made sure to walk a few steps behind to fully enjoy people's faces as the apparition passed by.

"Johann Faust the fourth", he smiled at the lady behind the service counter.

Apparently, _Johann Faust IV_ was the business-world equivalent to _Open Sesame._ Shiro's suitcase was immediately taken care of by an assistant, and a personal escort took them past the queues, past security, through the VIP lounge to get them each a glass of pink champagne, out a special exit, to a…

"You _are_ kidding, right?"

Shiro was not what one would call a mechanics geek, but he did recognise the world's fastest aircraft when he saw it.

"What's with that face?" Mephisto looked pleasantly smug as the escort bowed his leave. "It's just another of my flashy toys~"

"But- but that's a _Habu._ " Shiro didn't bother with appearances. He stared wide-eyed at the sleek, futuristic frame of the plane he'd only seen on the covers of magazines along with _World record!_ in bold letters. "It's not even an airliner, it's a military spy plane! Only the United States Air Force flies those!"

"And NASA", Mephisto filled in, swaggering up the mobile stairs while he sipped champagne. "And me. We'll be in Rome in five hours at most: if we flew at top speed we'd make it in two. It's too bad you haven't had the necessary training, flying at three times the speed of sound is quite a thrill~"

* * *

The plane had been heavily refurbished on the inside. Not that Shiro really knew what it had looked like from the beginning, but he was quite sure the US Air Force didn't decorate their planes with candy patterned wallpaper. The seats were clad with pink leather, which looked hideous, although they were also very comfortable even with the multiple seatbelt straps taken into account.

The take-off had been like riding Mepphy Land's Go To Hell, except _way_ cooler and tilting _up_ instead of down. That was the best part about flying, Shiro concluded once they were in the air and he didn't feel the G-forces press him into his seat anymore. Once they no longer accelerated it wasn't any different from riding a car or a tram. He soon found himself looking forward to the landing, hoping that it would be as exciting as the take off. That was a few hours ahead, however, and until then he would simply have to pass the time.

Which presented its own challenges.

"…well~?"

Shiro shot his co-passenger a murderous glare over the magazine. Smug, insufferable bastard…

"It's not bad", he admitted, trying to sound like he didn't care too much although the only thing he wanted was for Mephisto to shut up so he could read another page.

"Oh well, I suppose I'll pack the rest down, then…"

"Hey! …I mean, it _is…_ I want to know if the dofun will have an affair with Ferushen..."

"That's _dauphine_ and _Fersen_." Mephisto pushed the stack of Magaretto Magazines over to him on the table with a criminally satisfied smirk. "No need to be so guarded; good literature is good literature, no matter whom it's written for. Know your enemy, know yourself, and you will win a hundred battles, Sun Tzu says." He turned a page in his own girls' comic magazine. "That is true for romance, too~ Which reminds me: how is that someone you were going to spend Christmas with?"

"I don't think that's any business of yours."

"Oya oya, not good, then? I could give you a few useful tips~"

Shiro had a snide remark on his tongue when it struck him that, of all people, Mephisto was probably the only expert on both demons and girls' ideas on romance, and the best person to ask. It seemed perfectly logical, and fundamentally absurd – like just about anything that concerned Mephisto.

"Right, but only because I've never dated a half-demon before", he stressed, knowing he would probably regret this. "Is there anything I should keep in mind, anything I absolutely should avoid?"

"Half-demon…?" At first he looked surprised; then a wicked glow spread over his features, and the demon broke down in fits of mindless, giggling laughter.

"What? Can't humans date half-demons?" he snapped, feeling his ears heat.

"You can, but you can also save yourself the trouble", Mephisto snickered, picking up his magazine again. "My tip to you is to get a new pair of glasses."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shiro asked, crossing his arms.

"Clearly, the ones you have aren't doing you any good."

"Would you talk sense for once!"

"Really now, Shiro-pon: explaining the point spoils the joke~" he sang happily.

It was very difficult, and very frustrating, but Shiro kept his mouth shut. Anything he said to pursue the matter would be pouring oil on the fire, and he had another three hours stuck with the clown.

"Don't call me Shiro-pon. Why are we flying to Rome anyway?" he asked. "Aside from showing off like hell in this spaceship of yours. Couldn't you just snap your fingers and go 'poof'?"

Mephisto glanced at him over the rim of his magazine, looking very amused.

"Go poof…?"

"Or whatever you call it", Shiro muttered, face sinking deeper into the pages.

"There is an important distinction to be made between _could_ and _should_. While knowing one's enemies is essential, knowing one's allies can save you plenty of trouble. The Vatican is my bedmate, but a cold and reluctant mistress~" he sighed theatrically and unwrapped a lollipop from a stand of sweets that looked like a miniature candy shop. "She's hard to please, but content so long as we have separate bedrooms: though whenever I come to visit it is wisest not to remind the beauty that she has married the beast. Therefore, even though it is the faster way of transportation: no 'poofing'." He sniggered again at the word Shiro had oh-so-eloquently invented.

" _Will I become like that if I keep reading this stuff…?_ " He glanced with a certain amount of horror at the sparkliness surrounding the colonel of the French Royal Guard in his magazine. Yeah, that was probably what the world looked like through Mephisto's eyes. Roses and sparkles. "Sorry, no sympathy points earned. When they call me up for testimony and such – what do I say?"

"Preferably not that you're courting a half-demon: in anything else I suggest you tell the truth."

Tell the truth. Everybody made it sound so easy. Well, in this case it was, the possession didn't bother him. What did bother him was the formality of it: Shiro had never been on good terms with formality. It was like a shirt fit too small, and the obvious risk was that he'd unbutton it and leave it hanging, and consequently piss people off. While he would have had no problem doing so usually, this time around he wouldn't be alone with the consequences. Unlike his dad, he would not have others bear the brunt of his screw-ups.

"So it's not okay to date half-demons over there?" he asked – risking another laughing bout, but what the hell…

"Oh, the mere thought would send half of them into cardiac arrest~" The look on Mephisto's face implied that such an event wouldn't bother him in the least. "The longer the history, the stronger the shackles of tradition. They don't make any difference between demon and half-demon – go back fifty years or so and they would've had you executed alongside Sakura-chan. Quite harsh, yes~?" he said with a smile, looking at Shiro sideways. "That's the Vatican for you~"

* * *

They were picked up at Ciampino airport by Vatican personnel in a car that was professionally black and nowhere near as fancy as Mephisto's. As is customary for the population of the respective countries, the Italians only spoke Italian, and Shiro only spoke Japanese. Mephisto, on the other hand, appeared to be fluent in both.

"They have an interpreter waiting for you in the courtroom", he said at one point, switching back to Japanese, "but I will see to it that you have one throughout the stay."

"'cause you can't be bothered?" he questioned with one eyebrow cocked.

"I will no doubt spend too much time up at the stand to be of any service."

Shiro bit the tip of his tongue. Why did he hesitate to ask? He'd had five hours and more, and yet he couldn't bring himself to it…

"If they think you've, you know, not lived up to your duties: what happens then?"

"Depends on the verdict. I could get anything from misconduct to treason, which would merit a reprimand at best and a death sentence at worst."

"You seem rather happy about that", he noted flatly.

"Of course~!" The excited glimmer in his eyes did not make things less disturbing. "This is chess, Shiro-kun: _real_ chess. A game of mind against mind, lives for pawns, and Lady Chance watching from behind the curtains~"

Rome was just like the pictures in the travel guides. It was old, it was awesome, and it was empty: everybody was busy with Christmas preparations at home. The only living things in the streets were coal tar, if that even counted. In the hotel they were staying at there were scarcely enough people to take the luggage up to the rooms. They were given a generous breakfast that consisted mostly of cornettos and jam, cookies, and hot chocolate (as in literally molten chocolate bars), and Mephisto had to assure him several times that this actually was a breakfast and not a dessert.

When the Vatican representatives came to collect them for the audition, Shiro recognised one of Mephisto's magical keys with them. The door to the cleaning equipment locker opened to a grand hall hung with chandeliers that dwarfed the one in Mephisto's bedroom. Built like a theatre or opera, there were three levels of velvet-draped balconies overlooking the raised stand, and all three were packed to the brim.

"Damn", Shiro swore before he could check himself. "So many people!"

"It takes a special guest to draw a crowd like this", Mephisto grinned like a madman, the curl on his head twitching expectantly. "No such fame as infamy~"

Infamy indeed. The atmosphere was not what one would call warm, and clashed with Mephisto's enthusiasm in deafening murmurs. Shiro felt surrounded. When he found his fingers gravitating towards the pocket with the switchblade he quickly crossed his arms over his chest, to have them somewhere. The hostility was the same as when gangs met in the streets, no matter how well dressed it was in starched uniforms and gilded badges.

"Sir Pheles." The short, Japanese exorcist that approached them looked out of place among all the olive-skinned Italians. "Did the trip go well?"

"Not too unpleasant. Will the Grigori be long?"

"They are due to arrive any minute", he said, checking his watch. "Fujimoto-kun? I'm Haruhatsu Hoshi. I will be your interpreter."

"Pleased to meet you."

A heavy gong startled Shiro, but he masked it by turning. As he did, three robed figures assumed their seats in an elevated niche overlooking the stand.

"The Court is now in session", a voice rang out from the speaker system, and Haruhatsu translated simultaneously. "The Director of the Japanese branch of the Knights of the True Cross may take the stand. The Court will now hear the testimony of the Director, Sir Mephisto Pheles."

"Good luck, Sir Pheles", Haruhatsu said gravely, casting a glance at the crammed balconies. "They're here for blood, you know."

"So much the better! Nothing worse than a dull audience~"

"Your interrogator will be myself, Timothée Timowan, Chief Justice of the Order's Court of Law", said the young man at the microphone. No matter Shiro's efforts, he was too absorbed by the ugly wig to really pay attention to what he was saying. "And the Grigori will adjudicate. …ah? And the current Paladin, Léon Raoul Beaumonde, will co-lead the interrogation."

"Oh no", Haruhatsu groaned.

Speaking in general terms, there is the "oh no" of something that could go very bad, and the "oh no" of something that will go very bad. The "oh no" that strode in from a side door belonged to the latter category. It was a man whose likeness would populate video games, board games and fantasy novels with heroes for decades to come: tall, broad-shouldered, with angular features that would make a mason swoon, and a mane of rich auburn curls to make the mason's daughters drift off on clouds.

"What's the Paladin?"

"The Order's champion, the best exorcist they have. This one they call the Lion. He's sworn on his family honour that he will be the one who swings the axe at Sir Pheles' execution."

"He's going to be _executed_?"

"Probably not for this, but the Lion isn't one to give up when he's set his mind on something." Haruhatsu let out a brief, terse snort. "Sir Pheles doesn't exactly discourage him from it either."

Shiro snorted as well, but his came with a smile attached. Yep, that sounded very much like Mephisto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  Suddenly had to get into mechanics for this chapter. ^_^' I'm not even sure Mephisto's limo is a Rolls Royce - it looks like one, save for the logo that bizarrely resembles the Peugeot-lion... ^.^' I went with Rolls Royce mainly because it is the flashiest there is, and makes sense with the modified Spirit of Ecstasy - and, of course, to make the reference to a certain famous demon who loves his 1926 Bentley. =^w^=
> 
>  **Habu** is the name of an Okinawan pit viper. The plane is known under that name only in Japan, and to the rest of the world it's the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. Something like the Corvette of the sky. *not a car person, but loves Corvettes* Incidentally, it was also the plane that "played" X-men's Blackbird (not necessarily the same as the real plane!) in _X-men: First class_ (or at least they really made it look like an SR-71). Only 32 were ever made, of which 10 still existed in 1975 after the blueprints and manufacturing equipment were destroyed, and it holds a number of world records still, even if it was developed in the 60's. Just the kind of rare, expensive thing Mephisto would buy... or so I think. ^_^
> 
>  **Léon Raoul Beaumonde** – because Castlevania. =P While Belmont is now the standardized surname of the sworn enemies of Dracula, the original transcription is Berumondo or Belmondo, which in Italian would be "beautiful world". This guy is French (I keep imagining Mephisto would have an aversion to the French... ó.ô), so that translates to Beaumonde, which sounds not too far from Belmont anyway. Léon, because it fits with the nickname... and because I like main characters who, like Leon and Gabriel Belmont, lose everything and are utterly crushed... and overall, it's a nice name. Raoul is the French version of Ralph, which is the original name of Trevor Belmont. His name was changed to Trevor when the game was launched outside Japan (apparently, Ralph doesn't sound very heroic?). The point with this is that the seiyuu who plays Mephisto has also voiced one of my favourite Castlevania characters: Joachim Armster. It so happens that Joachim is a vampire, wears pointy-toed boots, and a Mephisto-purple robe over white trousers. And Leon Belmont is the vampire hunter that kills him. ._.


	29. At Court

Mephisto did not look like an accused on the stand: rather, he looked like a celebrity on stage, enjoying the undivided attention of his fans. Still, Shiro had his doubts. The "fans" were rather disapproving of their idol, and the Paladin-guy radiated pure killing intent.

"Mephisto Pheles. Our reports say that a student at your school was at one point possessed by a demon. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"And are you not, as principal, responsible for the safety of the students?"

"That I am", he replied without a worry in the world.

"Could you then clarify how it was possible for a demon to possess one of your students?"

"Indeed I can. True Cross Academy is surrounded by barriers: no demon can trespass there. The boy must have encountered the demon somewhere outside, most likely in True Cross Town, which does not fall under my jurisdiction."

"If no demon can trespass into the Academy, how could the possessed student come back in?" Beaumonde questioned.

"An intelligent question", Mephisto replied amiably. "As you are no doubt aware, gentlemen, True Cross Academy in Japan educates a wider clientele than do most of its equivalents in other locations. Out of our currently 32 exorcists in training, eight are born of demon blood. In order for these students to attend school – and indeed, for myself to pass in and out through the gates – the barriers are modified to allow passage for beings of living human blood. Half-demons can pass through, and so can humans possessed by demons. It is a liability, but also a necessity."

"What you are saying is that demons possessing humans have free entrance to a building full of human children", Beaumonde pursued with stern voice. "How can you then guarantee the students' safety?"

The room shrank to the size of a sugar cube, every ear waiting expectantly to hear what the accused would say. Part of Shiro's mind argued that Mephisto was a shady character, that with so many warning signs it would be for the best if he were convicted: another part said _oh, come on, the guy reads love stories for teenage girls!_ and wanted the weirdo to make it through in one piece. The thought that eventually won him over was a compromise: something huge was sealed inside the Academy, and Mephisto was keeping it sealed. Whatever his reasons, it would be very bad indeed if that seal broke.

" _You'd better be a good chess player, you clown…_ "

"The barriers surrounding True Cross Academy are made from my power", Mephisto explained, fingers splayed over his chest, "and are thereby an extension of myself. Nothing can pass through without alerting me to it. If I sense an energy signature I do not recognise, I can immediately find and apprehend whatever is penetrating the academy."

"And this barrier of yours never falters?"

"Not unless I do."

"Even if a hundred possessed humans charged at it?"

"It can be strengthened to full defence with a snap of my fingers."

"If this barrier responds to your will, as you make it out, then could it also be made to keep out more than demons?"

"If I so desired."

A smirk crept up on Beaumonde's perfectly symmetrical lips.

"So it could be used to take thousands of children hostage with just the snap of your fingers. I do say, that gives greater authority than even the Grigori can exercise – to a demon. I turn to you all when I ask; is this reasonable? Do we trust this devil dressed in human flesh, that he would not use the lives of innocents to negotiate whatever he wants from us? Do we trust a traitor from the enemy's ranks, who can have us at his beck and call with a snap of his fingers? Or should we do our duty and apprehend him now, when he is out of his lair and the children are safe?"

" _I'll be…_ " Shiro bit his tongue. If he'd been a True Cross Order executive, he would've taken the Paladin's word for it and had Mephisto locked up on the spot.

"If I may, sir judge~?" Mephisto's voice was a cool breeze through the heated buzz in the grand hall. "While slander has no place in Court, I do believe I have a right to address it. I am well aware that you question my loyalty. Every night I am the thorn in your side that keeps sleep from coming easily: and every night, I am the sentinel that keeps watch over the children of True Cross Academy." He made a sweeping gesture at himself. "Forty thousand nights and days, and more, have I been their guard. Thousands upon thousands of children have attended my school, and none have fallen victim to demons." He looked like a conductor directing an orchestra, addressing the left and right flanks of the balconies with flourishing movements. "I was appointed this position not by the Grigori or the executives of the Order, but by the Holy Father himself. I ask you all: would the supreme head of the Order of the True Cross, the man who carries out God's will on earth, have entrusted me this if he had doubted my intentions? Further, I ask of you: when you question my loyalty; do not add the empty weight of speculation to the scales, but the actual measure earned by a century and a half of flawless service." He took a small bow to the judge to indicate he was finished.

" _He's good. He's definitely good…_ "

"Demons speak with silver tongue, they say." Beaumonde's harsh baritone broke the silence like a boot treading on the night-old ice on a water puddle. "But do not let his smooth talk fool you into forgetting that tongue is forked. Is a wolf that has not killed sheep no less a wolf? Is it not in its capacity, or even in its nature, to kill sheep? And is not the Vatican the shepherd appointed by God to lead and protect His flock? What shepherds are we, who leave the wolf to herd our lambs?"

"Gentlemen", Mephisto's voice chimed anew, filled with barely contained excitement. "The wise do not judge a book by its cover, nor a man by his ears. As for the Paladin's comparison, I would like to add that for hundreds of years, shepherds all over the world have valued their strong and loyal guardian dogs, which have been essential in protecting the herd from harm. Indeed, do not these noble animals stem from wolves accepted into the service of humans? And while they are still relatives of the wolf, do they not kill wolves for their masters?"

It says nothing of the fierceness of a battle that it is without swords. Sparks flew as word clashed with word, rhetoric sang the song of steel in the air, sentences circled each other like wary duellists. The interrogation had probably never been the main interest, neither for them nor for the assembled audience. At the centre of it all was the black sheep of the herd, and whether or not it would prove – or could be proven – to be a wolf. The judge should have called for order long ago, but the same doubt writhed in his heart as in everybody else's: was Mephisto on their side, or was he not?

"Indeed, a tree shall be known by the fruit it brings forth: True Cross was established in Japan to battle the multitude of demons inhabiting the islands, but a compiled list of reports tells us that in fact, demonic activity has since then _increased._ " Beaumonde paused to let the words take effect. "And the Japanese branch has been strangely passive. Nothing was done when the Impure King claimed lives by the thousands. Nothing was done at the rapid succession of earthquakes caused by Earth King Amaimon that followed. Only this year, the village of Yaonaru has been attacked by hordes of demons eight times; without receiving support more than twice. Branch Director Pheles; _kindly_ explain."

"Certainly~ Japan had a rich tradition of Buddhist-school exorcism before True Cross was established there. Their teachings are more pragmatic, so to speak, concerning demons. Fukaku, the Buddhist monk who defeated the Impure King, was able to do so only by entering an agreement with a demon: this incident eventually prompted headquarters to permit the use of familiars to exorcists of True Cross Order. Concerning the King of Earth, I believe no exorcist, not even the honourable Paladin, could hold his own against a Prince of Gehenna. I sent men to aid in the evacuation from earthquake areas, but I would not send them to certain death in battle with Prince Amaimon. Lastly, the Yaonarus are themselves part of the Order, and have numbers fully sufficient to stave off an attack." He spread his hands. "I have proposed to take over guardianship of their artefact, which is what attracts demons to their estate, but they have continuously declined my offer."

"I believe you are avoiding the central question, Pheles", Beaumonde said, a vulture's expectation curling in his voice. "How is it that demonic activity has increased since you settled in Japan?"

"Everything has increased since I settled in Japan: population, industry, exploitation, expectation, demands, the pressure to confirm to tradition and norm. It would be more surprising if demonic activity _didn't_ increase with such fertile soil for possession~" he answered easily.

"I am not talking about small fry possessing people. Two devastating earthquakes struck the very week you set foot in Japan, with confirmed presence of Prince Amaimon; shortly thereafter, the Impure King spread death over the land. Two lords of hell do not coincidentally turn up in the same place overnight."

"Of course not", Mephisto said in friendly tones. "That was the first time in many years I left Europe; the first time in many years I was not in a guarded stronghold. Treason is grave, even among demons, and not easily forgotten."

"You say they were an assassination squad, yet to this day you remain without a scratch. Is there anything to prove they were not a welcoming party?"

"It can be neither proved nor disproved: and as such, minds are left to speculation. Bear in mind what I said of speculation earlier, and remember that I chose mankind over my own brethren."

"You chose mankind, you say. Let me remind you all that to man alone did God give the mind to choose good or evil: demons He created to test and tempt mankind and separate the wheat from the chaff." He gestured at Mephisto on the stand. "By laws lain down before Creation, the creature posing as a man before you is a rotten tree, and can bear naught but rotten fruit. While he bides his time – for time he has plenty – lulling us into believing we are safe, he is by birth a liar, a scourge, a tempter, and a threat to the Order."

"Order!" Timothée's voice cracked like a whip in the speakers, jolting through the heated buzz from the audience. "Beaumonde, this is no place for personal grudge! Pheles, you may step down. There will be an intermission for the Grigori to convene and discuss."

"How are we doing?" Shiro asked, eyeing the taut faces on the balconies.

"We're only mid-game yet, Shiro-kun: anything can happen~"

"Beaumonde's rhetoric isn't that sharp, but he knows his facts", Haruhatsu observed gravely. "And he has driven home a few points. There is no way of proving him wrong or right in his statements on demon activity, and that's the danger of it: it leaves the Grigori to judge for themselves. I don't think they will judge in your favour, Sir Pheles."

* * *

"I call the eyewitness to the possession, Shiro Fujimoto, to take the stand."

Haruhatsu accompanied Shiro up. Getting a good look at the robed Grigori, which reminded him of boiled eggs, he had to give Mephisto a point for his observations on Vatican fashion sense.

"Shiro Fujimoto. You are a third year high school student at True Cross Academy, and a first year student in exorcist cram school. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Will you describe what transpired at the possession you witnessed?"

"It was just after class, and my friend got upset. He's a very calm guy, normally, so I thought it was strange that he got so worked up about nothing. I only realised that he was possessed when he grabbed me and shoved me into the wall, and then Sir Pheles showed up."

"Were you injured before he did?" Beaumonde asked. He didn't look as murderous as he had before the intermission, but there is quite a range of moods between murderous and friendly.

"I don't think so. Bumped my head, but I was quite perky afterwards", he smiled, thinking back on how he'd tried to punch Mephisto. Wonder what Court would say about that…

"How did Pheles handle the situation?" Timothée resumed.

"Well…" Probably not the right environment, but it only took a moment to decide he didn't give a damn. Haruhatsu would probably translate with more suitable words anyway. "He scared the crap out of the demon and immobilized it. Then he instructed me how to exorcise it, and I did."

"Are you indebted to Pheles in any way that might lead you to bear false testimony?" Beaumonde asked. He wasn't looking at Shiro, but gauged Mephisto's reaction with intent eyes. Not good. Not good at all.

"No", he answered, wary of what would come next.

"Is that true? I have a list of transactions here, saying that he purchased a male school uniform, size 48, for 46 886 yen. Is that the uniform you are wearing?"

So that was his trump card? Shiro felt himself smiling at least as wide as Mephisto must be smiling. Poor Paladin, aiming for the fowl and shooting himself in the foot.

"Yes."

"Sir judge, I believe nobody can deny that this renders the witness' testimony unreliable. Furthermore, bribery of this kind-"

"Can I add something, sir judge?" Shiro was given the word. "Sir Pheles didn't give the uniform to me. I won it on a bet."

"What kind of bet was that?" Timothée asked.

"You see, we're both quite good at arcade games", Shiro grinned. "So I wagered that if I could beat him at a game, he would pay for my new uniform."

"You want me to translate that…?" Haruhatsu asked, looking more than a little unsure of what Shiro was saying.

"Yeah. It's the truth."

The translation brought on a murmur of surprise and confusion in the hall – not to mention Beaumonde looked like he'd been hit in the face with a dead fish.

"And if Pheles had won, what did you pledge to give him?" Shiro could well imagine what kind of wager the Paladin was hoping for, but the victorious glint in his eyes had faded.

"He wanted me to quit smoking", he replied cheerfully.

This time around, there was even muffled laughter among the murmurs.

"Why would he accept a wager like that?" the Paladin asked, shooting furious glares at Mephisto.

"Try lighting a cigarette within ten yards of him. It's quite funny", he said in casual tones, feeling where the interrogation was going and giving it a helpful push down the slope. Telling the truth: nothing more, nothing less. " _Was this what you intended, Mephisto…?_ " Had he…? No, impossible. The summons for a witness came from the Vatican, and the possession had occurred after their game duel: there was no way he could have planned this...

"Sir judge, corrupting children to betting and gambling is hardly appropriate for-"

"Oi, if you'd excuse?" This would be the end of it, for sure. "Just to get facts straight here, _I_ proposed the bet. Not Pheles. If you wanna charge me with inappropriate corruption of demon I'm okay with that."

"I will translate that, but it's on you", Haruhatsu informed, fighting to keep his face straight.

The court room turned into a Roman-era coliseum, accusations and laughter erupting from different sections of the walls and ricocheting back and forth across the span of the grand hall.

The Grigori deemed that no conclusive evidence could be presented against Mephisto, and therefore freed him of suspicion. The Paladin was reprimanded heavily for bringing up personal grudge at court; Shiro was admonished that gambling is immoral and not something the Order approved of; Mephisto received a warning for encouraging said behaviour among students.

* * *

"Good audience, good show~" Mephisto was happy as a kid on a summer fair when they made their way out. "Ah, what a delightful Christmas this is~"

Just before the exit, the Lion appeared from nowhere. Shiro, who had always prided himself on his reflexes, had no time to react when the mountain of a man seized Mephisto by the cravat and crushed him against the wall. He was almost as tall as the demon, and at least four times his girth. He looked like he could break him like a twig. Shiro didn't speak Italian, but there was no mistaking the message in the Paladin's voice.

Haruhatsu looked nervously from one to the other.

"Go on, translate for him~" Mephisto said in pleasant tones, meeting the Paladin's death glare unfazed.

The Paladin bristled where he stood. For him to be made to wait, to be dismissed as so harmless, so unimportant – to be so utterly humiliated by a demon…

"You may drip your venom in the ears of the Grigori, and you may have all the world fooled, but you will never fool me. Your words are as empty as your soul. Mankind ill needs a sentinel like you: you are a serpent, a cancer in the body of the church, and one day I will send your pointy-eared head back to the master you truly serve, imp."

Mephisto's gloved fingers helpfully untangled the chain of the Paladin's exorcist badge, which had snagged on a button in the man's uniform.

"Nineteen Paladins have made me that promise." One moment the Paladin was holding him against the wall, and in the next Mephisto was standing with his hand on the door handle. "Now, if you'd excuse, we need to be on our way~"

If glares could kill...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **Background info!** (which I think is cool, and for this chapter I do suggest you read it to really get what they're arguing about)
> 
>  **The core incident** Beaumonde accuses Mephisto of "letting slip" is the Impure King, who was finally defeated in the fifth year of Ansei (= 1858). The Impure King can be assumed to have begun his rampage in 1854, because this is the year that Japan opened up ports for trade with the outside world, which brought in cholera among other things. 1854 is also the earliest year that the Order of the True Cross (and Mephisto) could have established themselves in Japan.
> 
> On December 23rd and 24th 1854 (when I will pretend Mephisto landed in Japan), two earthquakes struck Japan and killed more than 10 000 people The Impure King follows in between 1854 and 1858 (1859 if you go by when the cholera epidemic finally ebbed), and kills 40 000; then come periods in time where earthquakes occur with only three or four year-intervals.
> 
> Now, if you compare with records from before 1854 (which are of course lacking since the seismograph wasn't invented), the previous earthquake was in 1792. Overall in earlier history, you see an average 50 years or so between earthquakes. After 1854, earthquakes occurred in Japan in 1855, 1858, 1889, 1891, 1894, 1896, 1923, 1927, 1930, 1933, 1936... Because Amaimon likes to visit his favourite brother...? =9


	30. Merry Christmas

The Midnight Mass was an annual event on Christmas Eve in St Peter's Basilica. The sermon itself wasn't that interesting, as it was held in Latin, but as architecture went, it was amazing. The inside was bigger than the grand hall of the Court, bigger than the entrance hall at True Cross Academy, and, frankly, bigger than anything Shiro had seen. One didn't have to be religious to gape in awe at the vivid art of Bernini and Michelangelo, or marvel at how tiny a 20 meter high baldachin looks beneath the highest dome in the world. And no matter the wonders contained in the Basilica, it was Mephisto that stole the show. Completely. He looked like a cat in a bathtub, or a dog with an Elizabethan collar: but most of all, he looked like a demon in a church. Shiro wished he could go to Midnight Mass every year.

"Don't think I didn't see you laughing", he muttered as the throng of people slowly made its way out after the sermon.

"Not denying it", Shiro replied, still grinning. "Wish I'd had a camera, though."

"If you want a picture of me for your desk all you have to do is ask~"

"Pervert."

"Mind that uncouth mouth of yours – remember where we are, Shiro-pon." He glanced up at the gilded ceiling, and the myriads of sculptures populating the pillar crowns. "Much can be said about Catholics, but their sense of architecture isn't all that bad. If it was for sale I would buy it."

"I bet you would. Some pink drapes on the baldachin and you'd have the world's fanciest four-poster bed."

"And sleep atop the grave of the founder of Catholicism?" he snickered. "What a blasphemer you are~"

"Don't try to tell me you haven't thought about it", he said with a knowing look.

"Who am I to tell lies in the house of the Lord~? I have considered it. I've also considered walling off one of the lateral arcades for a walk-in wardrobe and the other for a game arcade."

* * *

They poured out into Saint Peter's Square under the watchful eyes of the saints on the colonnades. Greeted by light rain, Mephisto snapped up his hideous umbrella. Shiro honestly didn't mind the weather. That said, he was a bit disappointed.

"I thought it would snow", he confessed, watching more umbrellas bloom in the square. "And that there would be Christmas trees and all that."

"In Northern Europe, yes, where heathendom has always had stronger support. Italy was tamed by Christianity a long time ago."

"But they still give gifts and such here?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner. He wasn't sure what kind of traditions demons had for Christmas, but before he thought of that he had already acted on the sudden whim…

"They do, but not until January 6th."

"Well, screw that, I'm not Italian. Merry Christmas." Shiro held out the thin, square present.

"Eh?"

Mephisto's facial expression said he'd identified the present as trash at first glance - which, if you were fair about it, it kind of was. The gift itself was an impulse thing and the wrapping was no better: Shiro had torn a page out of an abandoned newspaper and tied it roughly with black and yellow tape that said _restare fuori_ , conveniently lifted off a stolen car the police had inspected and left in a street corner.

"Haruhatsu showed me the Christmas market in Pizza Nabona while you were at the meeting", he said, enjoying Mephisto's bewildered - and slightly germophobic - look. "I couldn't resist getting it."

An elegant way of saying it wasn't so much bought as accidentally slipped in under his jacket while Haruhatsu and the stand owner wasn't looking. It was debatable how much Christmas spirit there was in a gift like that, but it was equally debatable how much Christmas spirit there was in Mephisto.

"Next time the Court will accuse me of accepting bribes from my students", he smiled crookedly.

"You saying you'll let me pass easier?"

"No."

Of course not. Shiro laughed under his breath when Mephisto initiated the classic procedure of testing the present's weight, shaking it, and in every other way trying to determine what was in it. Really, a prince of Gehenna…

"Shouldn't it come with a rhyme?"

"Come again?"

"Christmas presents have rhymes, don't they? Not that I would know, I've never gotten one." His brow knitted at the faint rattling noise when he shook the parcel. "Not chocolate, then…"

Shiro spared a glance at the headlights that lined the street where cabs were parked, waiting to pick up Mass attendants. The rain caught the light in puddles on the road and in moist sheens on building walls; it looked like the whole city was melting. A rhyme, hah?

"…it's nothing you can eat, though some might have tried, but if I had seen it, I'd laugh till I cried. There you go: a rhyme."

"Aren't rhymes supposed to make it _easier_ to guess?"

"You're not going easy on my grades, I'm not going easy on your rhymes."

* * *

When they got back to the hotel, Shiro saw their room for the first time. It didn't hold a candle to Mephisto's usual standard, but it was a suite. A single-bed suite. With little delay, Shiro was left to ponder the various possible reasons and consequences for this alone, while Mephisto had a word with the receptionist. He returned with a very… interesting… look.

"Fully booked over Christmas, like every other hotel in town, no possibility of switching room…!" He handed Shiro a paper the latter couldn't read, and pointed to the signatures at the bottom. "How would you read this?"

"Um…" Read? Was it even Latin letters? All he saw was swirls and hoops… "Johann Faust the fourth, I assume?"

"Certain vacation stand-ins in the reception also _assumed_ ", Mephisto fumed indignantly. "They read _Johanna_ Faust and assumed we were an adulterous couple spending the holiday away from our respective spouses." He tossed the paper on the table next to the Christmas present and pinched the acupressure points on each side of the base of his nose. "Of all incompetent…! I can't believe it, how could they take me for a woman? Not only am I a celebrity: I have a beard!"

" _And pink, high-heeled boots._ " Shiro blamed his tiredness for giggling. " _And women's clothes…_ "

Possible replies piled up sky-high in a matter of seconds, effectively jamming the speech centre in Shiro's brain. Mephisto glared daggers at him where he writhed with laughter on the bed.

Shiro's fun eventually ended, as thoughts extended beyond the speech centre and short-circuited his cerebral functions entirely: shameless flirting with Moriyama-san aside, there were indications that Mephisto's romantic interests might include… men. And they had just been given a suite with only one bed.

Wasn't he ever going to sleep? Mephisto's umbrella somehow doubled as a table lamp, and he had been reading by it for the past hour and a half. Shiro had already brushed his teeth, showered and brushed his teeth again, doing everything he could think of to delay the moment of going to sleep. It wasn't that he had anything against homosexuals. Really, he didn't even know if Mephisto was… gay. Or something else. He was, however, a demon; and he enjoyed jokes at Shiro's expense. That alone was enough to justify precaution.

"This is a non-smoking suite", Mephisto pointed out the moment Shiro flicked his lighter. "That means you don't get to poison me with those."

"This is a balcony", he returned through the glass-paned double doors. "That means I'm not in the suite."

"The room description says suite with balcony: that means the balcony is part of the suite."

"I can't read Italian: try arguing around that." He blew smoke out over the city, its buildings and islands huddling together in a rather dark and rather raw, damp night. It had stopped raining but the sky was still clouded, lit from beneath by the starlight of thousands of street lamps and shop windows. " _It's amazing, really_ ", he smiled dimly, the cool air the only thing keeping him awake. " _I was in Japan this morning, and now I'm in Italy. Tomorrow I'll go back to Japan again. Even if it isn't magic, it's as easy as snapping one's fingers..._ "

He went in only when his toes were freezing and he'd burnt himself twice on the cigarette glow. And the bastard was still reading.

"Aren't you going to bed?" Shiro asked, almost cross-eyed with fatigue.

"I don't sleep much. Neither do you, from the looks of it", he added, one glance enough to tell that if Shiro didn't lie down soon, he'd nod off standing and get himself a minor concussion.

"Like I could sleep when I know you're up and watching me."

"Hm? Why would I be watching you?"

Really… when his eyebrows went up like that, and his ears down… he kinda resembled a goat…

"You're a dirty-minded old man", he declared in tones that indicated Mephisto should already be aware of that.

"And you would be more comfortable with me going to bed with you than me staying up while you sleep…?" he returned, facial expression unchanging.

No, that wasn't what…! Well, on second thought, that _was_ what he'd said… indirectly, sort of… without meaning to…

"…it made more sense when I was just thinking it", Shiro groaned, rubbing his smarting eyelids as Mephisto snickered at him. Well, wasn't this going just dandy?

"I believe it's safe to say that none of what you think makes sense right now, Shiro-kun~ What you fear is merely the shadow of your own uncertainty, rejected by your mind and given shape outside it to make the perceived threat tangible and thereby manageable. Freud had similar theories, though you probably don't want to hear them… Rest assured, a gentleman such as I would never take advantage of a situation like this." The smile he sent Shiro over the pages belied everything he had just said. "But since you don't seem inclined to take my word for it, consider that we are virtually within earshot from Vatican headquarters. Beaumonde would sell his soul for a chance to bring me before Court on charges for – ah, what do they call it? – 'sinful and unnatural conduct'."

"Hadn't thought about that." Shiro scratched his messy hair, feeling more relieved than he'd thought. "Would those charges be very bad?"

Mephisto spent a fair while eyeing him, as if considering something. Probably how to best reply to make him uncomfortable.

"Not for a human. Excommunication is the standard verdict; however, in my case that would mean exclusion from the Order, and then I would be fair game to hunt. Now, can you sleep, or should I read you a bedtime story?"

"Like hell I'd want bedtime stories from you. …though, could you close your eyes or look away or something?"

"Why not change in the bathroom, if you're so irresistible I would jump you on sight~?"

"Stuff it, will you?" he grumbled, very close to giving the finger to the wickedly grinning face. "I don't have any pyjamas to change into, otherwise I wouldn't ask you to look away."

Mephisto had bulletproof arguments for not getting up to anything, but that mischievous smile he'd… no, strike that; flirtatious smile… oh, let's be honest; that _seductive_ smile he'd flashed spoke of anything but innocent intentions.

Shiro then realised he had forgotten the first thing about demons: they are pranksters, and they are curious. Hide something from them and they will tear down the house to find it, even if it's just a meaningless trinket. It is the secret, not the object itself, that tempts curiosity. By making such fuss over undressing, he had unintentionally baited Mephisto into trying _anything_ to get him undressed just for the hell of it.

" _Good job, self. 'Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun'. Next time you're tired, just go to sleep on the spot. Don't think, don't talk: don't even try to._ " He started unbuttoning his shirt, disengaging the bomb he'd activated. "You know what? Just forget about it. I'll go sleep. You keep reading." Give the clown what he's after and save yourself much trouble – though, really, the trouble was his own fault in the first place. "G'nite."

He took off his glasses first; that way he wouldn't see if Mephisto's eyes were on the magazine or on him. Shirt and trousers followed, until he wore nothing but underwear.

"Not bad~" The mere tone was enough to make Shiro's cheeks burn with embarrassment as he dove in under the bedcovers. "Allow a few years to ripen that body and the ladies will be all over you."

"Shut it, or I'll bring you to Court for verbal abuse", he mumbled, turning on the side and letting his concrete head sink blissfully into the pillow.

"Gute Nacht, scheues Veilchen", the demon chuckled.

* * *


	31. New problems and old ones

Vacation: the most beautiful word in the world. The visit to Rome may not have been vacation in the real sense, but it had provided Shiro what he needed to tackle the next semester: sleep and laughs. While he had slept on the flight back to Japan, Mephisto had tried his Christmas present. Shiro had been the only object on the plane to draw, but did on the other hand provide excellent opportunity to use the yellow crayon in the set.

Mephisto's artwork, Shiro concluded, was a metaphor for life itself: it may look miserable to the sober eye, but the more tired you were, the more hilarious it got. The portrait offered a wide range of interpretations when turned in different angles, such as The Surprised Rocket Fish, The Albino Cone With Sunglasses, or Shiro's favourite: The Cyclopean Octopus In Bikini-top. Fishing out that slip of paper from _Comprehensive Demonology_ was the quickest ticket to a better mood after a hellish school day.

If school was hell, then his dorm room was his very own, personal torture chamber. To think that relations with Kita would improve was laughable, but to think that it would get worse…

" _It's all your fault, you old goat…_ "

Over the holiday, Kita had gone from arrogant douche-bag to paranoid conspiracy theorist, and the only reason Shiro hadn't beaten his brains out was that he needed that brain to spill it contents in a more metaphorical sense.

"Have you talked to Sir Pheles?" Kita asked the moment he stepped in, not looking up from his course books.

"No, I haven't", he replied in a tone that would get the message through to anything with ears, be that a human or a hamster.

"Has he shared any information from headquarters with you?"

"No."

"Has he promised, hinted at, or in any other way suggested what post he might consider you for?"

"No."

"Has he offered to promote you if you pursue-"

"Do you miss your crutches, Kita-san?" Shiro growled, dropping his satchel by his own desk. "'cause I can promise, hint at, and in any other fucking way you like suggest that I will get you back on them if you don't shut up. I'm not interested in some fancy position with the Vatican, and I'm not sucking up to Pheles for a promotion in Japan. I was called to Court as a damn _witness_ ; that's it."

Kita had learnt of the audition through relatives in headquarters and locked on to Shiro like a damned homing missile, determined to torpedo any attempt he might make to surpass him. Competitive didn't even come close: fanatical did. Kita was born and bred to be not just an exorcist, but the best exorcist – as were all the Yaonaru children.

"Come again?" He usually paid as little attention to Kita as he could, but somehow subconsciously sensed that he had been insulted.

"I said you're hardly going to become an exorcist at all if you _don't_ look for Sir Pheles to promote you", he said dryly, with just the tiniest hint of a leer powdered over his words. "You're three years older than the rest of us. When you graduate this summer you will no longer have the orphan support fund to pay your tuition, and you don't have anyone else to pay for you. Nor can you take a job with the schedule you have." It's a cool thing to be able to write and speak simultaneously, and that made Shiro dislike Kita even more. Dicks shouldn't be entitled to coolness. "It's evident that you're desperate. Five Meisters? It will surely get you attention from above, but it won't get you a scholarship unless you show proficiency in all of them. Which you don't. The only sensible thing to do is step down, Meister in one or two, and get a side job. Preferably not something too intellectually demanding."

"I already have a plan that will pay my education. I'll ask the other students how much they'd pay to get rid of you, then I'll bury you in the forest. Two birds with one stone." He threw in a smile for good measure. That snotty little brat had even made his relatives dig up documents about his past? He was so asking for it… "Not too intellectually demanding, either."

"I don't know if the dullness or the tastelessness is the worse aspect of your so-called jokes."

"If I wanted to make you smile I'd nail gun the corners of your lips to your cheekbones, asshat."

Kita's only response was turning the volume up on Mozart. Fine. Shiro took the excuse to take his books and leave. He considered the kitchen, but there were no good reading lights there. He shuffled out in the common room, left his books on a table and turned on the TV. It turned out the real reason Mephisto had pushed for flying back to Japan so quick was that the last episode of _La Seine no Hoshi_ had aired the 26th. With that series ended, the Great Otaku Guru prophesized that 1976 would be a year of robots.

As if heeding Mephisto's predictions, the TV buzzed and showed a giant robot saving the world with a banana through its head. Shiro tried watching, but robots… no. Just ridiculous. Especially when they had huge, blue-arrowed jockstraps.

Shiro sighed. He hadn't meant for fall for Kita's taunt, but it's difficult to ignore a bruise when some jerk grinds his thumb against it. He had always known the funds would be closed to him once he graduated. It had been as certain as the sun rising in the east, and therefore he'd never worried about it. He'd never intended to go to college; there had never been any _need_ to worry. Until recently. His hopes of catching the saboteurs fast were dying slowly as a starving animal, and if he didn't catch them this semester he had no idea how he would stay in school for the next.

He really ought to try and get under Kita's skin instead of telling him off. He was one of the main suspects, what with his wide connections, influence, motives, and freaky obsession with being better than anyone else. Really, Shiro should've bit back his temper and asked the nosy bastard for advice on how to get his school fees together. It was a strategically smart baiting-the-enemy-into-the-ambush kind of thing to do; it was the _only_ smart thing to do. Naturally, he hadn't done it.

" _I'm an asshole and an idiot_ ", he sighed inwardly, running a hand through his hair. " _Great._ "

His plan to get on Agari's good side had fallen out even worse. Hell, he knew how important it was to get these people to talk: why couldn't he deceive them? He didn't even like them, there was no bad conscience in sight to- Oh. Of course. That was the problem: he didn't like them.

Shiro had a paradoxal relation to truth. He could lie, and did so often: he could steal, he could hurt people, and he didn't bat an eye. He was an asshole and he was honest about that. It was when lie became life… pretending to be something else… presenting the world a façade… That was a lie he could never abide, and the reason he couldn't play friend of somebody he loathed.

"Ye really got the time te slack?" Shiro woke with a start, not realising he'd fallen asleep. "If so, can I get a hand?"

"With what?" He looked up at Shizuku, whose tanned traveller's arms were resting on the couch backrest.

"Ryuuji-san."

"No", he groaned.

"Yep, still thinks Agari-chan will somehow grow a heart. I dunno what ta do."

"I'm open for switching roommates any day."

Shizuku's face brightened.

"Think we can get Ryuuji-san and Kita-san ta take one room and we the other?"

"Hell no, I want Ryuuji-san." Shiro shot him a meaningful glance. "You've got three extra holes in your nose and you still snore like a pig."

"Ye place me in the same room as Kita-san and ye'll havta help me bury the body", Shizuku deadpanned.

"With a smile on my lips." He sighed. "Do you really need _me_ to tell Ryuuji-san he's out of his mind? Doesn't he listen to you?"

"Well, 'e listens", Shizuku's metal-studded lips actually jingled slightly when he smiled, "but 'e doesn't understand what I say. Honestly, he told me teday. He's not quiet 'cause 'e's shy – or at least it's not the only reason – but 'cause 'e doesn't understand my dialect."

"Be grateful", Shiro said, reluctant to leave the couch. "People understand what I say and I always get smacked."

"'cause ye're an idiot."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?"

His most severe screw-ups didn't have an audience, after all. Shizuku cocked his head with a smirk that was almost, but not entirely, as annoying as Mephisto's.

"Same reason we keep tellin' Ryuuji-san ta give up on Agari-chan: people can't see their own faults unless ye hold up a mirror for 'em. Ye coming?"

"Do I have to…?"

"When I left 'im he was selecting a ballad ta play beneath her window."

Shiro face-palmed and muttered something into his wrist.

"You locked him up?" Shiro blurt incredulously, seeing Shizuku fish out a key to the room he shared with Ryuuji. "Like some princess in an old fairy tale?"

"Not the metaphor I woulda' used, but sure. You've been too tired ta pay attention lately, but he's _really_ gone crazy over Agari-chan." He gave Shiro a meaningful glance when he turned the key. "Not batshit-crazy, but crazy enough. Oi, Ryuu- oh ye're kidding me…"

The curtains flapped a longing farewell to the missing princess, and bashful flakes of snow trailed in through the open window, melting into perfect droplets on the desk.

* * *

"You might wanna know", Shiro said, hoping against hope that Ryuuji hadn't been gone long enough to reach the girls' dorm and butcher his dignity, "that Agari-chan was orphaned by a half-demon."

"Oh. Of course she was. And of course our half-demon has ta fall in love with 'er." Glancing up at the cloudy sky, he crossed his arms over his coat and added: "Well, the spirit grows through winters and shares its fruit in summers…"

"Will I sound smarter if I go around saying things like that?"

"Think ye might get smarter if ye listen?" He shook his head like a dog to get rid of melt-water. "You have a lot a' growing to do before ye can bear any fruits."

"Are you calling me short again…?" he glowered up at Shizuku. He knew very well what the monk meant, but he was in the mood for a little bickering.

"I've heard Agari-chan's taller than you", he smirked.

Now that _hurt_. Shiro hadn't paid much attention to _those_ measurements, but she could definitely be… Fumbling to come up with someone shorter than he, who wasn't a girl, he returned:

"Saburota-senpai is shorter than me."

"Shorter than _I_."

"And you feel you have any right to correct grammar, when people can't even understand what you're saying?"

"It's not much, but it makes the things comin' outta yer mouth sound a little less stupid", he shrugged, unsuccessfully dodging Shiro's elbow. "Easy, shorty; save ye' strength fer dragging Romeo back", he smiled. Neither of them knew which window was Agari's, but they had footprints to follow. Even if it wasn't past midnight yet, it was pitch black around the white dandelion globes that were the street lamps. "Saburota-senpai, ye say? Name sounds familiar, somehow…"

"Todo Saburota."

"Oh, yeah: the third Todo. Honestly, the only difference between those brothers is the white streaks in the hair." He chewed absentmindedly on a piercing. "I always imagined it was like a bar-code, so the parents would recognize who's who when they plug 'em in the electricity output ta recharge."

"Well, they can't be actual robots anyway. They don't have bananas through their heads." Shiro sketched a pair of horns – or, by all means, the ends of a banana – on his head.

"Bana…? Grendizer!" His loud, booming laughter bounced jarringly off the dorm building walls – strange enough, not the building where Shiro and Midori had apologised to Agari. This was the building where Midori and Sen lived. "Haha, that's rich! Haaaa, that'd be something ta see on a Todo…"

"I imagine Saburota-senpai would be something like this." Shiro put on Saburota's serious deadpan, tilted his head slightly forward and pushed his glasses up. When guys did it in anime they always managed to catch the light reflecting in them so their eyes became obscured: Shiro had tried finding that angle in the bathroom mirror plenty of times and concluded that that shit just didn't happen. At least not with electrical light.

"Something like that, yeah", Shizuku chuckled, mist steaming around his face. "Good ta hear ye're talking ta people without getting clouted, but I wouldn't have guessed you'd hang out with that kinda guy."

"Had to, I had an errand to the supply shop but I don't have a key. Man, I didn't know people like him existed. They're a lot like the Yaonarus, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't lump 'em together like that. Especially not if I was sharing room with either o' them", he said with a meaningful look. "The Todos are okay people; we even stayed a few nights at their place from time ta time, my family. Basically they're devoted ta doing a good job – a little too devoted, alright, but they're good people. The Yaonarus are just big assholes: the kind ye can shove a pine down ta the roots into and it won't even tickle." Shiro burst into roaring laughing fits, supporting himself on the shoulder of a helplessly chuckling Shizuku. "My oldest sister used ta say that about people she didn't like."

" _Sister_? Oh I wanna meet her, she sounds amazing!"

"She is. She's promised ta drop by for my birthday, ye can see her then."

"Is she hot?" he asked with a wolfish grin.

"I'd like te see ye pull ye' charm act on her, Shiro-san", he chuckled. "She'll eat ye whole an' spit out the bones. The Yaonarus act like they're some kinda feudal lords among exorcists, but they don't dare bitch with Kasumi nee-chan." He scratched his nose, peeling freezing condense from the piercings. "Makes sense they're keeping that artefact – it's not their style te ask fer help or hand it over." He chuckled to himself. "Hell, if they handed it over it'd be guarded by the Todos in Deep Keep. No way their honour could survive that."

"So True Cross has offered to take care of it?" Well, he knew that already: but Shizuku hadn't been at the audition, and he still knew that Mephisto had proposed to guard it? Interesting... On the other hand: he might not be from an influential family, but he had been just about everywhere and made contacts along the way.

"It's the safest place in Japan: lotsa shrines an' others have given over their artefacts ta Deep Keep." He blew into his hands, rubbing them together for warmth. "Many o' the places I visited with my parents an' sisters only had the altar left, no honzon. It's a bit awkward ta pray in an empty shrine, but people are safer that way."

"You only have sisters?"

"Yeah, three. One still kickin'. They practically raised me. Taught me proper manners", he grinned at Shiro's concentrated scowl.

"…dude, I can't even picture that." He shook his head. "All I'm seeing is three pierced gorillas adopting a baby left in the woods."

Shizuku smacked him over the head.

"Sounds like what I see when I picture yer brothers. What are they like, Shiro-san? All as short as you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I don't have any brothers: my folks had three miscarriages before I was born, is all."

"Damn, sorry ta hear that. Some couples jus' don't have the chemistry fer babies. …could explain why ye're so stupid, now that I think about it", he grinned. "Yer genetics didn't work out."

"You're so getting whacked next time we have bokken practice."

"By someone who can't tell the grip from the blade?"

"Oi, it's a _wooden_ sword, and I was _tired_ , and it's not like it even _has_ a blade…!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Grendizer** is an early mecha-anime. Have you seen Grendizer himself? All I see is a banana...  
>  **Shirou** is a name usually given to a family's fourth son. Shiro doesn't use the kanji for that, but the pronunciation would be the same, so Shizuku assumes he has three brothers. On that note, Saburota is named as third son, which makes sense in his case.


	32. Blind in the dark

In Ryuuji's defence, he actually could sing. Inquisitive faces already peered out from several windows, hoping to be the one sung to: Shiro considered for a moment to learn to play some instrument, but laughed quietly at himself. As if he would find the time to learn an instrument… Pity, though. It seemed to draw women like honey draws wasps. With any other girl Ryuuji's ridiculous plan might have worked, but this wasn't any other girl.

Shiro wasn't worried he would come to any physical harm. If Agari so much as laid a finger on a half-blood student again she'd be out of school forever, but there's a lot of harm one can do without physical means. Ryuuji was a handful when he was floating on pink clouds, but he wouldn't be easier if the clouds suddenly dumped him in a winter lake.

"Oi, Ryuuji-san! Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Still singing and plucking the lone string of the ichigenkin, Ryuuji met his eyes and shook his head.

"Look, I don't think you're Agari-chan's type: I think you're making an ass of yourself in front of half the girls' dorm, and I think you should bail as quick as you can."

"But she hasn't come out yet", he said between verses.

"Are you serious? Remember what she did to Midori-chan? She doesn't like half-demons", he pressed, getting the impression he was speaking to a deaf, soundproofed, and entirely uninterested wall.

"Shiro-san's right, man. Agari-chan's parents were killed by a half-demon. Why would she wanna _date_ a half-demon after that?"

"Love will always bring an end to hate, Shizuku-san. Doesn't Buddha say so?" he said, never ceasing to play.

Shiro exchanged glances of sympathy with Shizuku.

"Well, she's obviously not in: every girl in the dorm is hanging out the windows except Agari-chan. Think you can come back and try some other time?"

"No, that's perfect: I'll play until she comes back, and then they can tell her I've been waiting for her all the time." There was not a single thought in his eyes. Only love. Blind, stupid, doomed love.

Shiro's eyebrow twitched.

"Like hell you will!" he flared, snatching the ichigenkin. He was _not_ wasting his time with some lovesick idiot: he had a bunch of homework to do, people to spy on, money to worry about, and a principal to be wary of.

"Hey, give that back!"

Ryuuji could very well wrestle Shiro down and take the instrument, but he'd been out in the cold for a while and stumbled over his numb feet. Good. Because if Shiro got into a physical fight at this point, he would hold back nothing.

"No. Listen, Ryuuji-san, and don't you fucking dare interrupt me or I'll ram this whole thing up your ass." He wondered briefly if he would be able to realise that threat, but nothing could keep him from trying. "Agari-chan would gut you, skin you, stuff you and sell you to a restaurant if she were allowed. And I'm being realistic here. She hates demons, and she hates half-demons; you may be the least demonic half-demon on the planet, but you are a half-demon, and she'd sooner carve her face off with a spoon than date you. Do you understand what I'm saying? …and yes, you're allowed to talk now."

"I understand", he whispered. For someone his size, he could look very small. "Can I have my ichigenkin back? In m- my hands?"

God, he was pitiful. It hurt almost physically to look at him, and for a moment Shiro wavered. But he kept his cool. The two half-demons he knew were different as night and day, save for one thing: that weird way they could affect one's feelings towards them. He hadn't seen it mentioned in any books, but he was sure they could. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. It was too subtle to be noticeable, normally, but when such diverse feelings as pissedness and pity clashed it could definitely be sensed.

"You'll get it back at the dorm." Bending somewhat to the rarely heard humane voice in the back of his head, he added: "You need to get in, your lips are turning blue."

* * *

Ryuuji wasn't in the best of moods. It was hard to describe. It was a bit of a sulk, but with darker undertones. It was intent, glowering blame and hapless, helpless bewilderment. It was quite entertaining, really.

"That was interesting", Shizuku mused aloud to himself. "I think ye might be the most unfriendly person I've met in my fifteen years of travelling 'cross Japan."

"Whatever gets the job done", Shiro shrugged, a little surprised but entirely at peace with that rank. "Think I could get a diploma for that? 'Unfriendliest Guy in Japan, 1975'. Would look nice on the wall."

"Keep up the good work and ye' brain's going on the wall: one day or the other, someone's bound ta beat ye up. Have ye tried meditating? Calms the mind."

"I could use that, but I don't have the time. Anyway, Ryuuji-san, it's better to hear it from me than from her."

"Love is blind, Shiro-san", the half-demon mumbled, sounding both miserable and accusing. "You don't know if-"

"No: _you're_ blind. All I'm doing is keeping you from walking into closed doors."

"If I'm blind, what are you?" he returned in a somewhat louder voice. "I'm closer to Agari-chan's heart than you will ever be to Midori-chan's."

"What's that supposed to mean?" But Ryuuji looked away and didn't answer. Shiro wouldn't have thought anything of it if Mephisto hadn't said the same thing earlier. "Shizu-san, is there something I should know here?"

"Not my place ta say", he dodged, hands in his pockets.

" _He knows, too?_ " Shiro decided to keep the conversation casual rather than fire up more. "What, no witty remark about my stupidity?"

"No need: it's gonna smack ye in the face soon enough", he said, quirking the corner of his mouth upwards. "It really ain't my place to speak, anyhow."

"Maybe not, but it's my damn place to know", Shiro pushed. "Does Midori-chan have a boyfriend somewhere that you've been keeping secret?"

It's one thing to smell a rat; it's another to find out that everybody knows where the rat is except you. Shizuku was a great guy, the guy that made Shiro laugh and trudge through the days despite the world working against him: finding out that he, too, was in on this obscure conspiracy of silence was a blow in the gut.

"Just ask 'er, okay?"

"Oh come on, guys! Am I so much fun when I'm clueless?"

"Sort of, yeah", Shizuku admitted, rings clicking against his teeth as his grin stretched wide. "Not that we're laughing behind ye' back, but, ye know… it _is_ funny."

Shiro's thoughts spun into more and more unpleasant tracks as he tried to remember what Midori had said about smiles and daggers. Was she just playing with him? If she was even half the tease Mephisto was…

" _Ghueh…_ " Thinking about similarities between the principal and the girl he was dating was past unpleasant and well into the domain of horrifying. It didn't help much, either. When he had returned the ichigenkin to Ryuuji, and hauled his books back to his room, he didn't have squat on why Midori would want to trick him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> **Ichigenkin** is a single-string, plucked instrument that's good for accompanying singing.
> 
>  **Tanukis** are seen as jovial creatures that like food and drink, and it's common to have tanuki statues outside restaurants and the like. Apparently, some have real, taxodermically treated tanukis geared out with hat and saké bottle standing by the entrance.


	33. I promised you a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** I had to promise Shiro another date that I wouldn't screw up, or he would've walked out on me. And I wasn't going to ruin it for him, I swear, and I didn't: somebody else did... ^_^'

Suspicion is a cancer of the mind. It starts as a pinprick of doubt, hidden in the eye of the beholder, and devours you slowly. It dusts arsenic in the wine, whispers betrayal in a loved one's voice, and singlehandedly overthrows friendship and kingdoms. It's also known for being exceptional at spoiling dates.

"Methinks Toshio-sensei looks a lot like Tora-san", Midori chirped as they made their way out from the cinema. "Samurai Tora-san~"

"And Goggles-sensei the dainty damsel in distress", Shiro grinned. "Good character mismatch, there."

"Toshio-sensei is nice, Shiro-kun: is you who are bad with sword."

"No need to sugar-coat it", he grimaced.

"Sugar coat?" Midori gave him big, shocked eyes. "You can eat coat…?"

"Oh, no, not like that. Sugar-coat… it's when you have something unpleasant to say, and you try to say it in a nicer way. You know, putting sugar on something that tastes bad to make it more appetizing?"

"Ah: the thing you don't do~"

"Yeah, the thing I don't do…" he smiled, helpless before Midori's impish grin. It was like puppy-eyes and fluffy bunnies and kittens learning to walk… " _I'm completely out of it, aren't I?_ " he pondered, some part of his self amused by how sappy the rest of him was.

It was one of those clear, cold evenings that mocked the calendar dates and vowed to keep spring hostage forever. Few were out in the streets except in the central marked district, and the two of them could enjoy the cosy privacy of the parallel side streets.

"Hey, Midori-chan; you know that feeling you get, when it's like everybody's keeping a secret from you?"

"M-hm~?" she confirmed, shaking the emptied paper cone of kappa ebisen and meticulously licking it clean.

"That's the feeling I've been having, lately", he prodded. "Is there something I'm not being told here?"

"Oh yes", she smiled. "Kita-kun pushes Toshio-sensei to fail you – is a relative of his through marriage. And Sen made new ribbon." She turned to showcase a ribbon braided with gold and black, tied neatly around the tress in her neck.

Not what he was asking for, but he should probably say something nice about the ribbon.

"That looks ni-"

It sounded a little like a snicker concealed as huffing. In the corner of his eye, Shiro saw something small and white move on the sidewalk.

"You swallow fly?" Midori's ears angled apprehensively as she turned to face him.

"No… no, I just… thought it was a really nice ribbon." He pretended to check for the lighter in his pocket, shooting a quick glance back the way they had come: a white maneki neko statue waved from the entrance to a shop. "But that's not the kind of secrets I meant. I was asking if you're – if all of you – are keeping something secret from me?"

"Keeping something… secret from?" Midori looked like she was trying to solve a complicated mathematic equation. "Secret from who?"

"From me."

"We have your secret…?"

"No", he chuckled. "You have a secret, and I don't know what it is."

"I don't understand. Where did we get secret from?"

Shiro was about to tell her that her puzzled face was adorable, when he spotted the reflection of a little white dog trotting across a shop window. Whirling around, he saw a discarded newspaper being blown along the sidewalk.

" _I could've sworn…_ " Or was he just more tired than he thought?

"You have fleas in head, Shiro-kun", she tittered, looking at him knowingly. "What is your itch?"

"Ryuuji-san, mostly", he confessed, pushing his glasses up. "You heard him the other night, didn't you?"

"Oh yes – nice voice." She began tearing the edges of the empty cone, making an octopus with a cone-shaped head. "Pity Agari-san is deaf."

"And Ryuuji-san blind", he sighed, smiling wanly at the situation.

"And you make poor third monkey."

"Monkey?" He sure felt like one, wearing that empty, confused stare. "Why am I a monkey?"

"Don't you know~?" Midori covered her eyes. "See no evil." Covered her ears. "Hear no evil." She made a move to cover her mouth, but threw her hands out as if buffeted by an explosion, her eyes twinkling with impish humour.

"Speak shitloads of evil", Shiro chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I make a poor third monkey." He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Are you saying I'm not qualified to set Ryuuji-san straight?"

"Set straight?" Octopus finished, she carefully perched it on one ear. Really. How could you suspect somebody who did that of sabotage?

"Oh boy… When someone is walking the entirely wrong way, and don't understand that; then you have to make them understand they're on the wrong track, and that's called setting somebody straight."

"Then, I say 'who will set you straight?' Mouth like yours will make people deaf and blind to you. And the only one left to curse will be a lonely monkey."

Things like that shouldn't sound serious, coming from one wearing an octopus hat, but they do. They do, because if you know the place to strike, it takes but a pin needle to kill.

"…I know." The words seeped out, fleeing and vague as the pale vapour that carried them. "I know I need to be more careful."

Midori shook her head and set her tress and paper tentacles dancing.

"You need to love. You need thing that grows happiness." She poked him gently in the chest. "Thing that will make hard heart soft." Then she put her finger to his lips, smiling as if she knew all the world's secrets. "Then mouth will be soft, too~"

"I'm feeling softer already", he murmured onto her fingertip.

This time he _knew_ he heard it: the unhinged snicker from an invisible spectator who was enjoying himself immensely. Shiro chucked the lighter with all he had into a stretch of decorative evergreens across the street.

"Shiro-kun…?"

"Just scratching an itch", he grinned. He might have heard rustling needles, and he might have heard a surprised yelp. "Let's head back to the dorms, shall we? Oh, and come to think of it, would you like to go to the night market when it opens again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> **Tora-san** is the colloquial name for "Otoko wa Tsurai yo", a series of 48 classic Japanese comedy films (they held the world record for that, for a while). The one Shiro and Midori watched would've been number 16, "Tora-san the Intellectual".
> 
>  **Kappa ebisen** is a crunchy, shrimp-flavoured snack.
> 
>  **Maneki neko** is that waving lucky-cat statue.


	34. Raising the stakes

You have perfected the art of cat-napping when you fall asleep while reciting scripture. While Shiro viewed this as something of an achievement, Goggles-sensei was less amused. He didn't get any punishment homework, thank the gods – only a public scolding in front of his class. It was okay, really. Until he fell asleep against the blackboard.

During the day Shiro experienced the typical rollercoaster of being dead tired and being hyper, and he didn't enjoy it one bit. The only class he needed was at the end of day.

"Excuse me, Futotsuki-sensei?"

"Yes?"

Last class was over: finally. Shiro pulled his cognitive facilities together as the little man waved goodbye to Sen and the other students.

"I was just wondering when you would teach us more advanced seals." Shiro held out his hand for Futotsuki-sensei's salamander familiar to sniff. He could never remember the name of it, only vaguely recall that Sen had at some point said it was named after a poet her uncle liked. "I've had my eyes on the Secret Seal of Solomon for a while."

Futotsuki-sensei must know, at least something: what the vessel would look like, what type of thing it could hold – anything that could give a clue to what Mephisto was sealing, and why.

"I know you're ambitious", he said, turning to Shiro. "Goodness, do I know – five Meisters! You're going to go far, young man. I can give you extra assignments, if you like, but I won't show you how to prepare the Seal of Solomon." He made an excusing gesture. "Simply because I don't know it myself."

"Really?" That… wasn't what he had expected to hear. "But it seems like a very useful seal…? From what I gather, it can seal just about anything."

"In theory, Fujimoto-kun", the short-statured teacher smiled. "No practical test has been recorded in our time."

Save for the one right under their feet…

"Why not?"

"We owe Solomon a lot for the pioneering research he did, but in the scraps of his works that have survived he also asks us not to repeat his mistakes." Futotsuki gave him a meaningful glance. "It is said that Solomon devised that seal as an emergency solution, to imprison demons that proved too powerful to subdue. Such demons shouldn't be summoned in the first place, and therefore the incantations to summon them and the seals to bind them have fallen out of practice." He stroked the salamander that was his familiar gently over the nose. "Even I can agree that there are demons that should never be let into Assiah: it would be foolish to think they are all reasonable, just as it's foolish to say all humans are good of heart. No matter how powerful a seal is, it takes but a single stroke through a line to undo it: I believe Solomon learned that the hard way. The surviving records don't say what he summoned, but to this day, the lands that he ruled are cursed with enmity and bloodshed."

* * *

No answers, only more question marks. What is powerful enough to lay a curse that lasts three thousand years? Why did Mephisto summon something that strong? Why did he seal it? And why at the Academy?

" _I don't think it's about the Academy_ ", he mused, trudging the walkway from the main building to the dorm area. " _Something that big would impact the whole country if it got loose. If I just knew what he was after, maybe I could guess… or if I knew what Pius promised him…_ "

It was clear that Mephisto was doing _something_ , but, as with the wards and the seal, Shiro had a nagging feeling he was only seeing a small part of a bigger picture. Maybe he would have a revelation that would point him in the right direction again, but he couldn't count on-

"Guten Abend~" a familiar, lilting voice said.

Sometimes, apparently, it's enough to think of the devil to make him appear. Mephisto was perched atop a lamppost as if it were a royal throne, one leg crossed over the other.

"Stalking me now, are you?" Shiro said dryly.

"Don't be absurd~ I'm replacing wards; it's turning into a full-time job, for that matter." He tossed something to Shiro. "Good aim."

Shiro didn't need to check what he'd caught; his fingers knew the outline of his lighter like they knew their own neighbours.

"Easy mark. Enjoy eavesdropping much?"

"Such a rude thing to say to a gentleman", he hummed, his crossed leg swinging idly back and forth and making the lamplight misbehave. "We were headed the same way, and I was trying my best not to interfere with your date." Merry snickering drifted down like late snowflakes. "Sakura-chan is a gem, and so cute~ Fascinating, truly, that she's as thick as you are…"

"What do you mean?"

Oh, why ask? Mephisto gave a lazy smirk, taking his time to reply, turning the words over in his mouth like a savoury caramel.

"Really now – I'm trying _not_ to interfere~" he said sweetly; the lighting from below made his grin a sight that would haunt Shiro's nightmares for weeks. What little he slept, anyway.

"Whatever. I've been thinking about something." He adjusted the strap of his satchel. It wasn't easy for him to say, but he had to. "Think you could cut me some slack? From studies, I mean. Three Meisters is about what I can manage. Maybe if I quit Aria and Knight…"

"How would you observe Honda Shizuku? Has he been cleared of all suspicion?"

Shiro grimaced. He knew better than to lie to a demon.

"No. Maybe Knight and Doctor, then?" He didn't want to quit Doctor, Matsuri-sensei's classes were among his favourites, but he had to stay afloat somehow.

"That would leave your half-demon friend without watch."

" _Oh, yeah; he signed up for Knight to have lessons with Agari…_ " It wasn't exactly Ryuuji's fault that Shiro was in a pinch – or maybe it was, if he proved to be part of the conspiracy – but Shiro did feel a pinprick of resent for him. The only combination he could give up and still keep an eye on everyone was Knight and Tamer, but shahrokh had proved to him twice how useful a familiar can be…

"Time isn't mine to give, but yours to make", Mephisto drawled. "If you catch the saboteurs you can have as much time as you like."

"And what if I can't?" he said sourly, visualizing his funding deadline hanging like a guillotine blade at the end of spring semester. "What if I'd rather walk out on the deal and go to jail?"

It wasn't a tempting thought, but it would secure him food, clothes, and a place to sleep. As things were, he wouldn't last until graduation. It sucked to admit, but he was reaching his limits – that he could state as a reason, if need be. There was another reason, though, one he could never say aloud: Shiro was pretty certain the saboteurs were the good guys.

"You might want to watch your words, Shiro-kun~ What you say is true; for regular demons. I am not a regular demon." He didn't sound threatening: he sounded amused. Which was a whole lot worse, coming from him. "My contracts favour the ones who keep them – call it an insurance, if you will~ If you decline to uphold your end of the deal, I will have your soul as compensation for my trouble."

There are moments that are like skipping records; a missed beat in a familiar tune that shatters the sound weft for an instant, and fills that instant with the surreal silence of broken expectation. Mephisto's words slithered down Shiro's spine, interrupting life as he knew it. He'd never thought of… never even imagined…

"And you didn't see fit to tell me that _before_ I agreed to sign it?" he managed to say through a throat that felt narrow as a needle-head.

"Why, did you enter the contract with the intention of breaking it?" His head tilted to the side, one lazy eyebrow cocked. "Such poor business morale." The demon eyed him from his lamppost with an easy smile. "You didn't strike me as someone who would quit the race halfway – still don't. Rather, a person with potential to achieve anything, given the right… motivation~"

"Some damn motivation you've come up with!" Shiro snarled through clenched teeth, wishing the bloody clown was within punching range. "You'd think that when I agreed to help you, at least you would play fair!"

Mephisto wasn't bothered in the least by his accusatory tone, and why should he be? He held all the winning cards and he knew it.

"If you play my game, you play by my rules, Shiro-kun." The lamplight glinted eerily off his fangs and gave the impression that his eyes were glowing from within. "I never said it would be easy~"

"You never said what would happen if I lost", he returned sharply. He glared up at the demon with as much defiance as he could muster, but felt like a kitten baring its claws at a tiger. Mephisto seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Victory and loss: ends of different kind, but ends all the same." He skipped down in a flurry of white and purple, landing gracefully on the pavement. "You humans obsess over completion. I've never understood that peculiarity~" He sauntered over to Shiro, twirling his umbrella with a merry look on his face. "After all, the purpose of a game is not to end it, but to play it. Ends are tedious things – no possibility for development, no bricks to build a future, no fun for either winner or loser." He leaned in, too close for Shiro's taste, and murmured: "There are many turns yet to be played, many crossroads yet for Lady Chance to appear on stage. What will it be for you, Shiro-kun? Play the game, or end it~?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face, you deranged old goat", he growled. He knew full well he didn't have a choice, and Mephisto's stupid metaphors didn't improve his mood. "The game's on."

"Splendid!" he beamed, straightening up and clapping his hands together. "Then come to my office on Thursday, half to seven.* Auf Wiedersehen~"

Before Shiro could open his mouth to ask why, Mephisto had snapped his fingers and disappeared.

* * *

"Shiro-san…? This ain't the laundry room, ye know."

"Oi, gimme some credit, I'm not that stupid. Can I sleep in your room tonight?" he replied from behind the stack of bedclothes he was carrying atop the mattress.

"Ye' mouth get the better of you again?"

"It was in mutual understanding with the brain, actually", he said cheerfully, lack of sleep having about the same effect on brain and judgement as alcohol. "Now I can either sleep in your room or sleep with a knife under my pillow."

Shizuku hefted the pile with a muffled snickering and began putting together a decent sleeping spot on the floor.

Ninety percent of the stuff in the room was Ryuuji's: instruments, books, stacks of music tapes, clothes, picture frames with famous musicians and actors, a collection of Kabuki theatre masks... His parents must be doing pretty well. Shizuku, being a monk of sorts, and a pilgrim on top of that, had virtually no belongings. There was one picture frame on his side of the room, with an ill-treated photography in it: a weatherworn man and woman with shaved heads and old-fashioned garments. Three girls of varying height, all grinning as if they'd just put itching-powder in their neighbour's office suit, surrounded a little bundle of cloth in the woman's arms. It looked like a documentary photography of some remote, forest-dwelling tribe of Indians, each of them having at least eight piercings in face and ears.

"What did you say to Kita-san?" Ryuuji asked from where he was reading by his bed lamp.

"I tried out Shizu-san's advice of not comparing the Todos and the Yaonarus. It was good advice."

"An' poor use of good advice. Yer mouth's gonna get ye killed one day", Shizuku said, spreading the duvet over the cot. "Is there anyone ye won't pick a fight with?"

Shiro thought for a moment. Rather, thoughts swirled around in a drunken dance while he tried as best he could to grasp what he was thinking. There had been a time when his answer would've been "no". Then he had enrolled at True Cross and tried to become… well, not exactly a model citizen, but one who could at least keep a dishwasher job. And now he was slipping back in the old tracks, and they fit him snug as a glove.

"Your sister", he replied and rubbed his stinging eyelids. "At least if there are pines nearby."

"That where the line goes?" Shizuku chuckled. "Ya had a lot of enemies where you came from, that's for sure. Makes one wonder how ye ever sleep without a knife under ye' pillow."

Shiro flicked out his switchblade knife with the ease of many years' practice.

"I don't." With a deranged chuckle, sprung from too little sleep and too much work, he put the knife on the mattress and patted the pillow over it. "There. Better than any teddy-bear."

"You actually _do_ sleep with a knife under your pillow?" Ryuuji gaped. "That can't be in line with Academy rules!"

"No, but I'm counting on it to save my ass when rules don't", he said, starting to strip down to his un-pyjamas.

"Man…" Shizuku eyed Shiro as if he were an alien. "Tell me somethin' here. Ye're the kinda guy who pisses off everything with ears an' sleeps with a knife under 'is head. Ye're not the kinda guy who busts his ass Meistering in five exorcist classes. What ye doing that for?"

"You know what? I'm too tired to even answer that. I need sleep for my reflexes in Knight class."

"That's what I'm sayin', Shiro-san!" Shizuku pursued, throwing his arms out. "Ye fuckin' suck at swords! An' ye memorize the chants, but ye hate Aria class. Why the fuss? Why are ye doing stuff ye don't wanna do?"

"Honestly? 'cause I have to. I get my school fees paid through an orphan support fund. Once I graduate from senior high school I'm expected to pay for myself; no more funding, no more studies. I've got no savings, nobody to pay for me, and with my record nobody will hire me for a part-time job. I have to prove I'm worth a scholarship even if I'm over-age or it's good-bye True Cross Academy."

What surprised Shiro wasn't how easily truth mixed with lie, but how real it sounded. And it _felt_ real. The tension in his shoulders, the tight feeling in his chest, the heartbeat that gushed out the words faster than it should…

" _I'll play your game, you double-crossing bastard. And I'm gonna win._ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> **Solomon** was real, but the scriptures attributed to him ( _Testament of Solomon_ is the one I'm referring to here) are considered forgeries of later date. Even so, it's nice material to fodder a fanfic. The lands that Solomon ruled, which were sundered after his death because of his tampering with demons and foreign gods, are, as you may have guessed, modern-day Israel/Palestine and thereabouts.
> 
>  **According to the 1587 edition of Historia von Dr. Johann Faustus,** if you attempt to cheat Mephisto on a deal you get dragged to hell on the spot. =P I thought it was worth keeping.
> 
> * Just a thing I added without much thought. In German you express half hours like 18.30 as "half (to) seven" instead of "half past six". Yeah, just a useless detail... ^_^'


	35. A new teacher

Shiro had been wanting to tell Toshio-sensei to shove his sword someplace for a very long time, and it was with utter satisfaction he handed him Mephisto's summons that excused him from Knight class.

The satisfaction was pitifully short-lived, as most pleasures unfortunately are. Once out of the classroom, he wondered what the bastard was planning. First he used his soul as a bloody bargaining chip, and then he cancelled Shiro's classes in the subject he was likeliest to fail? A very discomforting thought had been nesting in Shiro's mind for the past days, a thought that wormed its way down to his intestines and made them twist like newly hatched snakes: what if Mephisto was consciously pushing him towards a breaking point where he couldn't keep his end of the deal? He hadn't considered it before, because he'd thought there would be nothing for the demon to gain if he couldn't fulfil the contract. Now, however…

" _Everything is a game to him_ ", he reminded himself as he scaled the many stairs up to the office. " _It's all about what move gains him the_ _ _most benefits. If I'm useful, I'll stay on the game board.__ " He turned the handle on one of the white double doors. "Oi, I'm he-"

He was tired as a hedgehog in December, but there was no possibility he could have taken a wrong turn. Mephisto's office was the single door on the right…

Shiro took two steps back and checked. Yes, it was the right corridor. Yes, the No Smoking sign was on the door. No magical key in the lock. But this wasn't Mephisto's office. It was a huge, dark-

"Welcome to the Ceremonial Hall~"

Shiro jumped back, hand on his knife, heart competing with his Adam's apple for the space.

"Why the hell do you always sneak up on me like that?!"

"Yes, I wonder~" Mephisto smirked around a lollipop, wearing a look that said he had something even tastier right in front of him. Shiro felt a sudden urge to cover himself with an additional layer of clothes. "You look like you're in the mood for hitting something?"

"You might say that."

"Shan't leave you wanting, then! This way~"

Mephisto gestured for him to enter the dark cave that wasn't supposed to be behind that door.

"And where is 'this way'?" Shiro didn't know what to think, but settled for suspicious. It seemed the best option when Mephisto was in that mood. "Mind telling me where your office is?"

"Where it's always been: I just convinced the door it led to another room." Convinced the door… If Shiro hadn't already suspected Mephisto had a few sheep out of the paddock, that would have made him wonder. "This is the headquarters of the Japanese branch of True Cross Order, beneath the Academy."

It _seemed_ alright: that meant nothing. He didn't exactly trust Mephisto after learning about the fine print of their agreement. If this really was part of the Academy, and not some dungeon or other hellhole, why hadn't he used keys as he always did?

"Magical keys got boring?"

"Magical keys got misplaced", he said, twirling the blue lollipop against his tongue.

"Couldn't you just", he snapped his fingers, "and get them?"

"'Misplaced' infers that the location of an object is unknown: I can't bend space in a location I don't know."

So that's how he did it?

"That actually makes sense." Shiro stepped over the threshold in what he hoped looked like a casual manner. Once inside, it wasn't as dark as it had seemed. "It's big." His voice made a solo choir in the silent cavern.

"Stunning deductive abilities. Yes, it's big: and barren, and private. Perfect."

He had pretty much expected an assault at this point, but Mephisto's heeled boots clicked off along a winding walkway, guided by lantern light that steeped the yawning arches in deeper shadow. Shiro followed one step behind, admiring the woven banners in the cave roof and the inlaid emblems on the path. You'd expect it to be cold down there, but the temperature was actually pleasant. You could live down there, if you wanted to. An unsanctioned tingle of excitement in Shiro's gut confirmed that his childhood dreams of a secret underground base were still alive and kicking; an underground base in an underground lake was even better.

"Your teachers inform me that you keep up with schedule and will have sufficient knowledge to pass the Esquire exams in May." Mephisto made a flourishing turn on his heel as they reached another paved platform. "Except in Knight."

"What a surprise. Toshio-sensei is trying to fail me 'cause Kita-san is his relative and the little bastard thinks I'm trying to get promoted."

"The young Yaonaru won't have to worry unless you make considerable progress: which brings us to why we are here~" Mephisto removed his top hat, and with a count of eins, zwei, drei, he reached into it and pulled out a bokken. "One for you." He pulled out another one and left the hat sitting on the balustrade. "And one for me. Any questions before we start?"

Yes, a hundred.

" _You_ are gonna teach me swordsmanship…?"

"Why yes~ I do hold the title of Honorary Knight", he smiled, snapping his fingers.

" _And rape my country's heritage..._ "

Shiro grimaced as his ridiculous principal uniform was replaced with an even more ridiculous hakama. It came in white and purple, with little dogs and hearts and stars all over the trousers. This had to be a joke. In Shiro's experience, whenever somebody was accepted into an institution under the title Honorary it usually meant they didn't actually know shit about the work.

As was his habit in regards to Mephisto, Shiro was dead wrong. His title was Honorary because the Vatican wouldn't give a real title to a demon: even if said demon had bested nine different Paladins that all had Knight as their primary Meister.

To say that knife and sword are similar because they are both edged weapons is to say that a dragonfly and a seagull are similar because they both fly. The switchblade was like an extension of Shiro's arm; the sword was like an extension of his leg, substituted for his arm. It required a whole new set of skills, and neither he nor Toshio-sensei had had the patience to teach him those. Even if Mephisto went easy on him, he was soon out of breath and had to push his glasses up time and again as they slipped on his sweat-coated nose.

"No juice in youth these days~ Take a break", the demon said, sheathing his bokken in his belt with the flowing elegance of a concert violinist working a bow.

Shiro sheathed his like a violinist asked to assemble a tuba, and flopped down on the balustrade. He didn't care if it annoyed Mephisto or not: he dug out a smoke and put it to his lips with a hand that trembled from fatigue. The whole thing was just embarrassing. He could screw up in front of Toshio-sensei and the rest of class; it stung, but he could live with that. Screwing up in front of Mephisto felt infinitely worse, because… because it was worse. Period.

" _He'll rub my face in it, for sure_ ", Shiro thought glumly, tapping ashes off into the water. Mephisto was good, that much was for certain, but it doesn't matter how good a teacher is if the student sucks. "Wha-? Hey!"

He had been prepared for the demon to snatch his smoke: he had not been prepared for him to snatch his glasses. The underground base blurred to a mass of grey rock, black water, and fuzzy lights. The white-and-purple blob in the middle of it all held up the glasses for inspection.

"You seem to pay great attention to these?"

"'course: they're my only pair of glasses", Shiro muttered, taking the opportunity to draw long breaths on his cigarette. " _Wish I'd had another,_ _ _so I could see you…__ " he smiled into his hand as Mephisto tried them on. Prince or imp, demons were curious about everything Assaian. Oh well – he'd be at least as curious if he'd been visiting Gehenna. Wonder what it would be like, to have no body? How did you move around? How did you speak? How did-

"Awful things", Mephisto concluded, taking the glasses off and shaking his head to get rid of the wrong focus. "Eins, zwei, drei!"

Pink smoke enveloped his glasses. Shiro almost swallowed his cigarette, jumped up from the balustrade-

"What the…?" He came to an awkward stop as Mephisto laid something around his neck and deftly put the glasses back on his nose. They were just like before, alright: except the abominations that flanked his field of view. "You have to be kidding! What the hell's this supposed to be?"

Mephisto nonchalantly slapped him over the head. Not hard, thankfully – he could probably slug the skull right off his spine if he wanted to – but hard enough for his head to whip down towards his chest. Shiro instinctively cupped his hand in front of his face to catch his glasses; but they never fell. They didn't even slip.

"Oh…" Too surprised to worry about the cigarette he'd dropped, Shiro tilted his head back and forth. The glasses remained in place as if glued onto his nose.

"Try a handstand, if you will", Mephisto said, squashing the smoke under his boot. "They only come off if you take them off."

"That's neat. Except it makes me look like a granma."

"Matches your sword skill, then."

"Oi! I'm doing the best I can – think you could do the same? Like something better than this?" He caught the string between his fingers, dangling the little cross demonstratively.

Mephisto placed one hand on his hip, and the tip of his bokken under Shiro's chin.

"Clothes make the man~" he quoted, a playful smile tugging his lips. "But only a man of confidence can make the clothes." The tip slid to the glasses string. "It suits you." He tapped the bokken on Shiro's hand. "Now that you don't have to think about your glasses you might want to start thinking about your wrists. The katana is a two-handed sword: the right hand supports and guides the movements, the left follows and augments. They either move in synch, or they hamper-" He cut himself short as Shiro drew his sword, changed his mind halfway with a muted curse and hurriedly adjusted his grip. "I remembered you as right-handed?"

"I am."

"But you assume a left-handed grip by default?"

Shiro shrugged.

"It feels more natural."

"Then go with left-handed."

That wasn't what Toshio-sensei had said. Shiro smiled inwardly as he switched back to his unorthodox grip. Maybe training for Mephisto wouldn't be so bad after all. At the very least, he seemed determined to help keep Shiro on the game board.

* * *

Wrong again: training for Mephisto was a pain. Walking back to his dorm, he felt like hitting someone. He'd _tried_ to hit Mephisto, plenty of times, but it was like trying to cut through a wall. His new roommate was probably asleep by now, couldn't let off any steam in there.

" _Might as well_ _take the opportunity to practice…_ " He sat down on a bench outside, closing his eyes.

Rewind eight years. Rewind to a dinner table at a family gathering. Everybody's there, everything is jolly good, just fine; perfect, in fact. His mom was smiling at granny – he could remember her smile and her voice, but the rest of her face was still hidden in bitterness. His dad was talking to grandad, about some game that had been played recently. He couldn't remember what sport – baseball, maybe? Or was it tennis?

There had been another guest at the table, too. A silent, invisible family member that had moved in with them recently. It sucked the laughter's out of the air, gulped down the smile on his grandmother's face. His grandmother was nice, no taller than he was, and she smelt like homeliness. She broke his heart with that smile. He wanted to tell her about the new family member, but she was so far away – she couldn't have heard him even if he'd shouted. Mom had told him not to say anything; had made him promise. It was very important to pretend that some people didn't exist, even if they ate every meal with them and slept in their-

The first red eye of burning coal opened in his chest. A hundred meals had been eaten that way: pretending the secret wasn't there. A hundred nights had passed when his mom had slept alone in her bed: and she had pretended they never happened. A red beast beat its tail in Shiro's veins, beat a war drum-rhythm that hammered at his composure.

Ink. Writhing, living ink.

Shiro's eyes snapped open, staring wildly into the night. But it was already in him. It tore into the memories like a starved animal, threw up the anger and the bitterness in a mucky cloud from the bottom-most sediments of his heart.

" _Fuck!_ "

Shiro's mind floundered like a man drowning, recoiling from the darkness on instincts older than time. He could feel his control slipping, felt his arms and legs move without his consent. The inky intruder wrapped itself around his brain, cornered him, cut him off from the outside world.

Deaf, blind, a prisoner in his own body, Shiro fought like he'd never fought before in his life. There was a terrible drowsiness, a leaden weight that promised him safety and rest, and it was a tempting offer: the demon was wreaking havoc in his head, pushing him to embrace the comatose sleep by digging up graves and overturning the coffins with everything he'd tried to bury. Dark secrets and painful memories flooded his mind, eighteen years' worth of it; the anger and the bitterness magnified to the point where he felt his skull must crack open, and the weft of his sanity was wearing thin.  
 _  
 _"Mom. Mom, I saw dad with that woman again today. They were kissing."__

He couldn't hear the words, but he felt them; etched into his flesh like prayers on a grave marker.  
 _  
 _"…I know, honey." Her smile was warm and sweet, but her eyes were empty. "It's okay. Just don't tell anyone, will you?"__

_"But mom…"_

_"No, honey. Mom's busy, and dad's busy, too. Go play, it's okay."_

_"No it's not! He's got you! He should be kissing you!"_

**"** _ **Why not let go, honey~?**_ **"** the presence mocked in a voice that was neither male nor female, or even human. **"** _ **Forget it all**_ _ **and go to**_ ** _ _sleep: you know you want to. I know you want to. I know everything about you~ Just turn away and go to sleep,__ _Fujimoto Shiro._ **"****

" _I don't wanna sleep, you fuck…!_ " he gritted his teeth mentally. No, he wouldn't sleep; that's what the demon wanted… that's what it _needed_ …

Demons, despite their vast power, have no physical form. Human emotion, however powerful, has no physical form. The emotional waste in the human heart accumulates a strong concentration of power, and demons use that to gain access to the physical body: but to take control of the body, they need to wrestle control from its owner. They need to weaken, to subdue, to suppress… Shiro faintly grasped what Sen had been trying to teach him: be master of your self, be master of your emotions, and be master of the demon.

Shiro stopped struggling against the tidal wave. It submerged him, crushed him, suffocated him with everything he'd turned away from over the course of eighteen years. He did not struggle: he let it flood him, let it flood into him, met all the regrets and bitterness and disappointments face to face. In the end, Fujimoto Shiro wasn't a runner.

It hurt. It hurt like pressing glass shards into one's eyes: but it had to be done, whatever it took. Let darkness be part of you, not possess you. Possess the darkness.

Shiro's vision returned reluctantly as he forced the demon to yield his senses. He found himself down on all fours, as if overcome by sudden dizziness. And he was on a… balcony. No idea where, no idea how long he'd been out, no idea what he'd done up until- His thoughts froze as he saw the hands resting on the plastic carpet: claws like Mephisto's, on his fingers…

Darkness welled up with the sudden shift in emotional balance, catching Shiro off guard. The demon once again muddled his senses, tried to tear control away from him. Claws dug into the carpet, teeth clenched around a low growl that most definitely didn't come from his voice.

" _Get the hell out of my body!_ " he hissed. He pushed the demon back to stalemate, but it was firmly barricaded in darkness he could just barely keep under control. " _If that's how you wanna do it, you little bitch…_ "

He crawled over to the plastic watering can in the corner, wary of the demon's tampering words. The balance was delicate, and averting his attention for even a moment would spell disaster.

"O salt, creature of God", he whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I exorcise you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by the God who ordered you to be poured into the water by Eliseus the Prophet so that its life-giving powers might be restored. I exorcise you so that you may become a means of salvation for believers, that you may bring health of soul and body to all who make use of you, arid that you may put to flight and drive away from the places where you are sprinkled every apparition, villainy, and turn of devilish deceit, and every unclean spirit, adjured by Him Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen."

Shiro grinned darkly at the demon's honeyed promises of surrender. Finally, all those extra hours with the old course literature paid off.

"O water, creature of God, I exorcise you in the name of God the Father almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ His Son, our Lord, and in the power of the Holy Spirit. I exorcise you so that you may put to flight all the power of the Enemy, and be able to root out and supplant that Enemy with his apostate angels: through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen."

He dipped his sweaty fingers into the mouth of the watering can and crossed himself with his other hand. The submerged fingers began to sting and sizzle. Oh, this was going to hurt….

"Bottoms up, you fuck." He lifted the can, tilted his head back, and let the holy water set fire to his throat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  And that's one explanation to how Shiro got his glasses string. =P I don't think it's the type of thing teenagers usually wear (me being an exception), and definitely not something for such a delinquent as the Shiro I'm writing. Take it from one who competed in gymnastics for half a decade: glasses and somersaults don't mix. =X He'd need something like that string to pull off the stunts I expect you'd face as an exorcist in this manga.
> 
> That's not the whole prayer for blessing holy water, that would've been way too much wasted space, but it is the real deal (from pre-Vatican II initiative).


	36. Just because I can

Shiro woke slowly to the feeling of being on fire. Well, wouldn't that be extraordinarily stupid? Why would he set himself on fire…?

The sheets had a crisp feeling to them that he didn't recognise. And the bed was hard. That ruled out his own bed and Mephisto's. He cracked open one eye, but without glasses it was pretty useless. His surroundings were very white, that much he could tell. Hang on… Shiro sniffed, only to find his nose completely blocked. He tried breathing in instead, to taste the air that way, but started coughing. His whole ribcage seemed to creak in protest. Suffice to say, you don't sleep out on a balcony in February without catching pneumonia.

He slept most of the time in the infirmary. Once when he woke up there was a get-well card from Ryuuji; he assumed the little wooden donkey was from Shizuku, though he didn't get the point until he noticed the tiny cigarette and the glasses made of wire.

Next time he woke, it was because Shizuku dropped the huge _Comprehensive Demonology_ from the stack of course books.

"Thought you might wanna do something while ye're in here", he said, disengaging the books on a chair. "Midori-chan and Sen-chan's been over, too." He nodded at the chocolate box on the bedside table. "How ye holdin' up?"

"Could've been worse, I guess." He was feeling perkier every time he woke up, but that might have been for catching up on sleep. He still coughed all the time, and it still hurt awfully. His ribcage felt somebody had pummelled it with a sledgehammer. "Wish they would give me less ugly nurses, though", he said, quirking a smile at Shizuku.

"Tch, ye're fine alright", he chuckled. "This is for sanitary reasons." He tugged the elastic string on his surgical mask and let it snap back. "They wouldn't let me in with my face."

"Leave it at the door."

"Ye seem the same as ever, so I'll bother ye some more: would ya solve the mystery of why a lady in the middle o' True Cross Town calls school an' says she's found one of its students on 'er balcony? Huh…?" Shizuku bent down again, picking up something from the floor. "The hell's this?" He turned the lone paper this way and that. "Hate to break it to ya, but I could'a drawn better with both thumbs cut off."

"That's not me." Shiro grinned through a fit of coughing as Shizuku put Mephisto's drawing of him to rest against the chocolate box. "It's from a little kid I used to know at the orphanage."

"I didn't take ye for the type ta be good with kids. Now, about that balcony…?"

"I was possessed. When I came to I was on a balcony somewhere. Still had the bastard in me, so I blessed a watering can and dunked myself in holy water."

"Wow. Came to, while the demon was still in ye?" That was genuine admiration on Shizuku's face, if Shiro's wasn't hallucinating from fever. "How d'ya do that?"

"Sen-chan taught me a few tricks", he smiled. "Gotta thank her when I see her next."

"I rather think ye pissed the demon off so much it left", Shizuku chuckled. "Anyway, good ta see ye're doing alright."

Sanitary procedure didn't only discriminate Shizuku's face, but Shiro's steadily increasing need for nicotine. Going out to smoke, the nurses informed him, was absolutely out of question in his state.

The nurse had left, and Shiro had picked up a book on the history of seals and wards to kill some time, when the next guest dropped in.

"Guten Tag." A chair swooshed over from the wall to assist him. "I heard you were awake – quite the commotion you've caused, but I suppose that's in your nature." Mephisto folded one leg over the other and sat, at safe distance from the vicious microorganisms. He cocked his head, gazing intently at Shiro. "You smell of demon. I did suspect it, when a handful of wards around the dorms were taken down…" He stroked his goatee, brow furrowing. "But the smell is faint. It was exorcised. By who?"

"By me." Shiro didn't see any need to hide his smugness around the smuggest bastard alive.

"You retained control of your body during possession? Interesting~" Thoughts raced across the demon's face like a flock of crows at dusk. "Can I assume little miss Futotsuki has part in this?"

"Yep."

"Tsk tsk, your casual tone doesn't do justice to the weight of your words. You must have made a good impression on her, and on your teacher. The Futotsuki don't share such things with just anyone."

"Go figure – they were hunted like animals for the things they did." Shiro closed his book and held it up for Mephisto to read the title. It was about seals and wards, but it was not course literature. "A clan of demon worshippers, originally: until they were invited to teach at the recently founded True Cross Academy. And the Moriyamas were cursed and driven into the woods before the same offer was given them. You've collected quite the staff for this place."

"Can't run a school without teachers", he said, spreading his hands with a pleasant smile.

"Pretty odd teachers to select, though. Why them, specifically?"

"I was in no position to pick and choose, you know. Few ordinary teachers would work for a demon back when this school was built", he said in smooth tones. "The Futotsuki were eager to help: and the Moriyamas… have you figured it out yet~?"

It was on his tongue to say that Mephisto probably fancied having his own harem: then he changed his mind and tried to think up a good way of implying that being the patron of lonely women would make a good cover for his other inclinations. Perhaps it was the delay from the clash of ideas, or perhaps he was actually learning to watch his tongue:

"I can't see any other connection than their curse", he coughed into the crook of his arm.

"Not a curse, Shiro-kun." Mephisto wagged a gloved finger. "A bloodline that only births women – fine women, I should say~ – and whose members have the gift of making everything that grows thrive?" He cocked an eyebrow with a smile that said Shiro really ought to make better use of his brain – maybe rent the vacant space to hibernating caterpillars? "They are descendants of long gone forest spirits. Once upon a time, a male Moriyama in all likelihood got lost and met a beautiful woman of the woods, who promised to lead him out in exchange for his company. Humans like the Moriyamas are the living legacy of the spirits of ancient Japan; how could I not want them for my school~?"

The door in the adjacent room creaked, followed by the soft padding of slippered feet. Mephisto disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.

" _Too bad, he was talking for on-_ " Shiro almost jumped out of the bed. The sudden motion tightened his windpipe and triggered a coughing fit. "What…? What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed at the stumpy tail that just disappeared under his bedcovers. The footsteps came closer.

"People would start wondering if I paid such unusual attention to one of my students", came the whispered reply. "And pets aren't allowed."

"Then get _under_ the bed!"

But no: the little furry body snuggled closer to his side until it was almost undetectable beneath the covers.

"I'm your principal, not some common mutt", the bump hissed indignantly.

Shiro put the book on him to hide what little bump was visible. The nurse made for his bed with a nursey smile. The kind that comes with the work description.

"How are you feeling, Fujimoto-kun? Do you want something for the fever?"

"It's okay for now. Are you sure I can't get my smokes back? There's no one but me in this whole section."

She poured an excusing look into her smile and shook her head.

"I can't let you smoke with pneumonia, Fujimoto-kun. Even when you are fit to leave the infirmary, you should wait a few days. Can I get you something else?"

"No, I'm fine."

When the soft steps were out of earshot, Mephisto crawled out. He sat down next to him on the bed, giving him that look dogs make when they want you to read their mind and do what you're supposed to do.

Shiro was not particularly good at mindreading.

"…well? She's gone: get out of my bed."

"My bow is ruined", the dog complained, his little nose crinkling. "Some assistance, if you would…?"

"Oh for the love of…"

Shiro put his book on the bed table and lifted him up in his lap to redo the miserable bow. He wouldn't confess it on his deathbed, but the little dog was rather cute. Despite the shaggy look, the fur he'd felt under the covers was soft and silky; and those funny, bushy little eyebrows… didn't change the fact that it was Mephisto. And that he had snuggled up against Shiro just minutes ago.

"You're turning back and getting out of here the moment I'm d-"

Shiro just gave the bow a final tightening tug, and Mephisto turned back. On his lap. With Shiro's hands twined into his cravat.

The sole movement in the whole world was the one twitch Shiro's left eyebrow made.

"…you're doing it on purpose, aren't you?"

" _You_ asked me to turn back before leaving your bed", he said in honey tones.

Shiro pulled the cravat taut around his throat and yanked Mephisto's face level with his own.

"I meant before you leave _the_ _infirmary_ , you pervert", he said in brimstone tones. "Now get off me."

"I like a man who plays it rough~" He tugged the polka-dotted garment looser with a smirk that could make the blind blush. "Pity you're just a boy. Werde bald gesund~"

Mephisto disappeared, leaving Shiro to a different kind of fever and a boiling desire to smash something to pieces.

"Shameless bastard", he muttered. "Should've coughed on him…"


	37. Composure

There is a saying that disaster likes company – or something like that. Anyway, such things are relative. In this case, Shiro was the disaster, and no company liked him. His current roommate was a step up from Kita, but only because not much could be worse than Kita.

" _Maybe I could bet with Mephisto again_ ", he mused as he worked on his paper on comparison of Asian political systems and their correlation to national economy. It was as boring as it sounded. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his sore knuckles. If he'd had even half a brain he wouldn't have used his right hand, his pen hand, to beat up that freshman earlier. But the guy had made fun of his glasses string, which was now part of his glasses, and you did not insult Shiro's glasses. " _If I win, he pays my tuition. That's a lot of money, I wonder if he'd do it… and what I would have to bet against him…_ " He grinned. " _Wonder if he'd accept a drawing competition…?_ "

The door creaked open behind him. Shiro braced his ears: his dirty laundry was still waiting in a pile on the floor at the foot of his bed, he hadn't cooked even if it was his turn to make supper, and…

"I see you're in." Something landed next to him on his desk. "I would appreciate it if you kept our respective belongings separate. I found one of your magazines slipped inside my course literature today."

It was indeed one of Shiro's magazines. The special edition featuring Japan's bustiest bikini models. He'd been looking for that one.

"If you wanna borrow it just ask. You could use some relaxing literature." Understatement: it would take a construction crane to get the rod out of that guy's ass. Saburota wouldn't shout or pester him, as Kita had, no: he was tranquillity itself. Banana or no banana, he was as close as you got to a robot. Against better knowledge, Shiro added: "I would appreciate to have it back clean, though. If you know what I mean."

"Honda-kun warned me of your uncouth mouth", he said, _calm_ , and started to unload books on his own desk. "Rest assured, taunts are a waste of your time."

And inside Shiro's head, the bell rang, and the boxing match between Reason and Temptation was on. Saburota did have outstanding composure. And Shiro did have an outstanding itch to see him lose it.

"You look like you could hold up better than Kita-san", he said, trying to distract himself from doing something stupid. "You're a whole lot more bearable than him, too. He never stopped nagging me about the Meisters. Tenacious bastard." He turned a page in his book, mostly for show. "It's to surpass you, isn't it? The youngest Yaonaru and the youngest Todo, rivals from birth."

"The 'rivalry' is one-sided. There is no room for petty competition in work where lives are at stake."

It was easy to forget that Saburota was only four years older than him. He spoke and acted like he was at least twenty years older, and it hadn't surprised Shiro in the least to hear that he was considered for teaching Tamer class once Futotsuki-sensei, who was growing silver shades at his temples, retired. A driven young man, a prodigy exorcist, a role model: a person Kita resented with all his heart.

"That's sensible." He turned another page. "Why do the Yaonaru hold a grudge against you? I don't need to ask what you have against them that everybody else doesn't, but what's their history with your family?"

"It's nothing important."

"Nothing important?" Shiro's eyebrows rose, and his eyes left the book. Apparently that rod went as far up as his neck, making Saburota unable to slouch even the slightest when poring over his literature. "That's funny. I hear Kita-san's older brother almost did one of yours in on a mission. 'Ricocheting bullet', huh? It could be, and it could be something else. If something's worth attempted murder, it ain't 'nothing important'."

"It's a molehill turned a mountain", he said, no notable emotion attached to the statement. "The Yaonarus have been exorcists since early Edo days. They even served the Imperial Court. When True Cross Order was established in Japan, they were the first to join. When Deep Keep was built, they were first in line for the privilege of guarding it. But the task was given the Todos: not an exorcist family then, and nowhere near as prestigious as Yaonaru; but renowned for hard work and dependability, as opposed to the Yaonarus." The vaguest hint of pride seeped into his voice. No rivalry? Oh yes, there was rivalry. He just wasn't as consumed by it as Kita. "I respect you for that, Fujimoto-kun."

"What?" No, really: what?

"Honda-kun spoke highly of your efforts when he asked me to share room with you", he said flatly, turning a page in his own book. "I didn't deem you suitable as an exorcist before, but your hard work is commendable. I respect that."

For once, Shiro's tongue was in a knot. Getting back at a snide remark came as easy as breathing: responding to praise… was something he'd never had to do before. His first response was suspicion, but that aside… what an unexpected opportunity…

"…thanks, I s'pose", he said, feeling very awkward about it. Shizuku was right: there was great difference between a Yaonaru and a Todo. "I think I misjudged you, too. I thought you were gonna be more like Kita-san." He allowed a good-natured chuckle at himself. "Good thing you're not. He tried to spill tea 'accidentally' over my essay, the night before it was due. Only had to re-write two or three pages, but still… I don't know about that ricocheting bullet. I mean; school rivalry, fine. It happens everywhere. But taking that kind of foul play to the field…?" he prodded. Anger or respect: different tools, same lock to pick. "Are they really capable of that?"

"In the interest of affirming their status, they are quite ruthless", he said flatly. "Whether it's emphasizing themselves or disabling competition."

"You're saying they would endanger others to make themselves look better?"

"I'm not saying anything of my fellow exorcists", Saburota said. "Only that there are indications in certain directions."

" _Good enough for me._ " The pendulum swung even more in favour of Yaonaru as the responsible saboteurs. But still, what were they sabotaging? And why? Maybe Saburota could confirm a few other things he'd mulled over… "And all for a storage room in the basement", Shiro finished in light tones, putting on a mildly incredulous smile. "I know you're not allowed to talk about Deep Keep, but I can't help but be curious. It's the safest place in the country, they say. Just how heavily guarded is it?"

"Only the Vatican in Rome is more fortified. Deep Keep is located six hundred metres below the centre of the Academy, which means it's protected by all the barriers around the school in addition to the ones in the Keep itself. Adding to that several armoured doors…"

Everything Saburota said after that passed Shiro like a faint breeze. He smiled amiably, tightened and flexed his stiff knuckles. At the centre, really? Inside all the barriers and labyrinths Mephisto had put in place; and, coincidentally, at the centre of Solomon's Seal? Well, well, if you're going to keep something locked away properly…


	38. Overall, stupid

"The Yaonarus are definitely capable of staging something like this." Shiro feinted and struck against Mephisto's knee. "More so than the Todos, from what Shizu-san tells me. I'd like to get some time between four eyes with Agari-chan, but she's not the most friendly person around."

"Your counting is as poor as your footwork." Mephisto parried a rapid combo of blows. "You and one person more, that's six eyes." Counting his glasses, that was.

"Gimme a sec and I'll make it five." He thrust at the demon's face, slow enough that he could dodge for certain.

Sparring classes with Mephisto was a strange thing. He didn't look forward to them, but once there, he enjoyed himself on some uncharted, primal level. There's something about physical exercise that relieves both body and mind of study stress; motion over concentration, action over thought. Shiro may have had good resources in the cognitive department, but he knew what suited him best.

As his aptitude improved, another kind of sparring developed: Mephisto was one of very few – the only one, to be honest – who could give Shiro a match in bantering. Between blocks and feints and the sharp echoes of wood clashing with wood, they passed time with jibes. It made exercises much more difficult than they had to be, but by this time Shiro was used to pushing himself to stay in phase with his schedule. Besides, teases and jibes could be useful in other ways…

"You're powerful." Shiro whipped up his wooden blade to cover his side. "And you can handle a sword. Why aren't you in the field?"

"Exorcism is dirty work", he replied, countering Shiro's attacks with a casual grace that was the complete opposite of what Toshio-sensei taught. "I never did dirty work in Gehenna, and I'm not about to make a habit of it in Assiah."

That could be a reason, but Shiro was damn sure it wasn't _the_ reason: the Vatican might accept a shepherd, but they wouldn't let a fighting dog into the sheep's paddock.

"Isn't it annoying?" he drawled, feeling for buttons to push. "To have to pretend you're some puny high-level demon and let yourself be bossed around by people weaker than you? I bet you didn't do that in Gehenna either, your highness", he added with a fine dusting of mockery.

"Don't taunt an opponent unless your technique is as sharp as your tongue~" In a single movement he'd broken Shiro's defence and had him at point blank. "Or maybe your focus will be sharper if your blade is…?" Mephisto snapped his fingers, and the weapon in Shiro's hand grew heavier.

"You want me to fight you with a real sword?"

"It would be hard for you to block a real sword with a wooden one." Mephisto swung his shiny, _real_ katana in leisurely circles. "You might want to pay more attention to what you are doing now~"

No kidding. This was real fucking _steel_ – it could take an arm off if you failed to block. It could glance off a block and slice into a leg. And loads of other unpleasant things.

Shiro had always held a greater respect for blade weapons than firearms. With firearms you died quickly. And if the aim was a little off, you probably didn't die at all. A bullet wound was small and neat, and bleeding easy to stem. Swords weren't like that. Even if they struck true you'd have time to feel the blade go in, and feel yourself die. And if they didn't strike true, you'd die anyway simply because of blood loss. You didn't even have to be hit in a vital organ to be screwed. Swords were messy and dangerous, and painful, and…

"You can buy yourself free from the contract, if you like", Mephisto said in light tones, his blade whipping sparks from Shiro's. "I'm not unreasonable. Your soul can be yours again: all I ask is something of equal value~"

"Like what?" Shiro circled warily, ready to defend against the next hail of strikes. He wouldn't like the price. Not when Mephisto had that happy look on his face.

"If you don't want to be mine in death you can be mine in life." He struck at Shiro's legs and was deflected. "A puppet." He followed the momentum through, twisting and cutting at his neck in one fluid motion. "A toy." Shiro blocked, and Mephisto held still long enough for him to see his grin flash sharper than the steel. "My very own pet~"  
 _  
Pet_. Shiro angled his blade from defence to offence: he'd cut that delusion clean out of the demon's brain.

"Now that's more like it!" Mephisto's merry laughter bounced off the cavern walls as he fended off Shiro's cold, furious onslaught. "That's a pet more to my taste!" He sidestepped a straight stab and snagged Shiro's wrist with bony fingers. Sweet Jesus, it was like encasing your hand in concrete…! "That's how you should fight", he smiled down at him. His free hand teased Shiro's throat with the katana in reverse grip. "No need to hold back with me, little lion. It's not your style anyway, is it~?" He let go and poised himself for a new round. "Again."

* * *

"You could'a just told me to fight harder, you know."

Shiro took a swig from the water bottle he'd made a habit of bringing. Mephisto had a demon's strength and didn't tire no matter how intense fights got, and consequently worked Shiro beyond his actual limits. Not that he complained: not anymore. His shirts fit tighter around his chest now, and his arms were looking more and more defined. Come summer, girls would worship him on the beach.

"It's a grave misconception that learning is done with one's head." Mephisto held a relaxed pose, katana resting over his shoulder in one hand and the other holding a lollipop. "The mind forgets in a day: the body remembers forever. Besides", he pointed the lollipop in Shiro's direction with a wrist-flick one could expect from a coy lady dismissing a compliment, "you wouldn't do as you were told anyway."

"True. Unlike you, I'm no dog." He rested his elbows on his knees, smiling impishly from where he sat hunched forward on the balustrade. "The Vatican must really enjoy having you around: their own private court jester."

Mephisto bowed most graciously, as though what he had said was a compliment.

"You know that was a jibe, right?" Shiro said, picking his ear with his little finger in that manner he knew Mephisto detested.

"A poor one, then. The jester could be very influential at court", he said with a smile, crushing the lollipop between his teeth. "Nothing wrong in keeping the men of power in good humour."

Tch. How to make the clown rise to the bait, then? How annoying it was, not knowing the triggers…

"Your bedmate should settle for ordinary call girls, then: less expensive as pets." He might regret this. Regret it a lot. He didn't want to see that hellish malice on his face ever again… "How much did your services cost? Per century, or per night?"

"Price always corresponds to goods~" Not a trace of agitation: but a gleam entered his eyes that hadn't been there before. "You want to know the price Pius the seventh paid…?"

Shiro kept his face straight, but cursed at himself inwardly. Teases and jibes were useful, alright: but they worked both ways, and he had just stumbled in his own pitfall. Mephisto was supposed to slip what he wanted to know, not figure out what he was trying to make him slip.

"There is a price for that, too~" he smirked, unperturbed. "A secret that changed the course of your life, a decision made on the brink of hell; a regret that eats you like rot inside." Hand on his hip, he pointed the tip of the katana casually at Shiro's face. "That is what Pius gave me, and that is the price to pass it on." He made a flourishing sweep with his unoccupied hand. "Quid pro quo."

"Alright: first of all, I want that thing out of my face", he said with a mix of annoyance and matter-of-factliness that he hoped would pass for composure. " _Think fast, think fast…_ " He had no intention of sharing a secret like that with a demon. He didn't even know if he had one that would qualify. What he did know was that he was good at bluffing, and he might not have to tell Mephisto anything at all… "How about we play for it? Your sword against my gun, down at the target practice range: whoever misses first loses, and the loser has to tell the winner his secret?"

Mephisto's half-mast gaze calculated down the back of his sword, holding Shiro's eyes with unreadable expression.

"Fair enough." He sheathed the katana with that fluid motion Shiro had secretly been practicing but couldn't master. "Shall we?"

Ando-sensei had given him his own magical key to the practice range with hopes of stealing him from Matsuri-sensei's Doctor classes. The lights yawned and blinked awake when he flipped the switch. To the general public it would look like a practice area for tennis, or maybe baseball. To Shiro, it was the best substitute for the night market when that was closed during winter. He smiled to himself. His name was ranked as number two on the scoreboard next to the coat hangers: number one was Komui Natsuya. Komui Natsuya… the Doctor-Dragoon that was Agari's friend, right?

" _I'm getting beaten by a girl that doesn't even look like a girl…_ " he grumbled.

Well, he wasn't about to beat a girl now. Mephisto claimed a wire-netted booth, whistling some new anime intro while Shiro went to get himself a gun. A hundred thoughts milled in his head as he made for the weapons cabinets. Did Mephisto suspect he'd been following his trail as well as that of the saboteurs? If he did, he didn't seem to mind. Maybe Pius' promise was something entirely harmless, then? Shiro didn't really believe that, though. If price corresponded to goods, the cost for saving a church, restoring a nation and dethroning an emperor must be pretty damn high. A secret that changed the course of one's life, a decision made on the brink of hell, a regret that eats like rot…

" _Nope, wrong thing to worry about_ ", he told himself, selecting his usual handgun and as much ammo as he could carry. " _Just target practice, business as usual._ "

"Well then! What difficulty do you prefer?" Mephisto smiled brightly, putting his bangs out of the way with little Hello Kitty clips. Shiro gawked. Maybe he was about to beat a girl after all…

"High, unlimited mode." He lined the ammunition magazines up on the shelf within comfortable reach. He'd tried special mode a few times to see if he could grab first rank, but he wasn't nailing everything a hundred per cent on that one. High would have to do.

Shiro lost track of time completely. The world narrowed down to each whooshing high-speed ball and the hypnotic rhythm of _whoosh-bang_ , _whoosh-bang_ , _whoosh-bang_ : and, with its own, separate rhythm, the _whoosh-zing_ , _whoosh-zing_ of Mephisto's katana. Shiro knew better than to look sideways and get nervous. Mind your own business; focus. Eventually the old goat would miss… Another mag emptied, a new one clicking in place before the old clattered to the ground. He could do this all night.

"Oi, late night shift, izzit?"

A whoosh, and the rattle of a ball hitting the net. _Whoosh-zing_ , _whoosh-zing_ – dammit…! Part of Shiro wanted to turn the gun on Shizuku: why, of all times, did he have to come and ruin-

The machines geared down to a halt.

Awkward. Shizuku and Midori stood stock still in the doorway, now noticing that Shiro wasn't alone.

"Why, good evening~" Mephisto sheathed his katana with an easy smile. Of course, the only one not struck by the awkwardness was the one who made it all awkward. "I see you have no use for me as practice partner anymore. Enjoy yourselves, dear students. Auf Wiedersehen~"

Silence lingered a while longer after he poofed away. Why, _why_ did they have to walk in on him right _now_? And what would he tell them? Midori was suspicious of Mephisto, Shizuku was suspicious of Mephisto…

"…was that Hello Kitty clips on 'is head…?"

"Afraid so", Shiro grinned, thankful for the casual opening. "Our principal might be a closet transvestite, but one that knows his way around a sword. Wanna take his place?" He nodded at the two wooden practice swords in Shizuku's duffel. Both he and Midori were meistering in Knight.

"That's what we're here for." Shizuku put the bag on the bench and secured his sleeves. "Ye're always hangin' out with the people I expect the least", he said. "Now the principal? How did that happen?"

"By accident, sort of. I was called in as witness in the Vatican when he was summoned for a hearing last year. So we ended up spending Christmas with no other company than each other." He shrugged. "He's queer as a clockwork orange, but not half bad to be around. Got a real sweet tooth. You wouldn't believe how much chocolate he ate for Christmas."

Shizuku seemed to buy it wholesale. Midori, not so much. Not at all. She hadn't moved, hadn't spoken: all the joy and laughter had left her,leaving a faded, hollow husk. When she eventually spoke, he hardly recognized it as her voice:

"Stupid, Shiro-kun. Very, very stupid. He is no person to joke around with." Gone was the pitter-patter of summer rain, the playful sunlight in her words, the spark that made her Midori. "His smile is dagger, always. His words, string of steel that binds and cuts." Midori took him by the shoulders, gravity and urgency seeping into her voice. "I know demons, weak and strong, Shiro-kun. Him… If he ordered me to slit my throat, I would not dare disobey him."

"Oi, what did I miss? What's up with Pheles?" Shizuku looked bewildered, to say the least.

"Don't ask me, I barely know the guy. Hey, Midori-chan, are you okay?" He removed her hands from his shoulders, holding them gently. If only this had been in a different situation… "Do you know what's wrong with Pheles?"

He had to ask, if only to keep up appearances. But he already knew.

The power of habit is great, but the danger of habit is greater. The human mind can adapt to almost any conditions, bad as well as good. Midori was half demon herself, and saw things in demons that were invisible to human eyes: whether invisible to the senses, or invisible to a mind that had grown adapted.

Shiro knew he had adapted when he saw that look on her face. That's what his own face _should_ look like. Mephisto was not a person to joke around with.

" _He only makes it look like he is…_ " A court jester, alright: but the joke was on the court, and they didn't even know it. " _Is that what you're smiling about all the time…?_ "

Once the thought was there, it wasn't going away. It gained momentum, tearing down the blinds and letting in the light of clarity. You couldn't move among humans as a demon if that's what they saw you as. Mephisto needed people to let their guard down around him. He needed the Vatican behind him to make people view him as nothing more than a peculiar pet on a secure leash. He needed the Vatican itself to believe he was collared and tame so they wouldn't mistrust him. A hundred and sixty-seven years in their service since Pius VII would cloud many eyes with the veil of habit.

"A human can't imagine… what it is to gaze on someone like him…" Shiro blinked back to the present, where Midori took slow, graceful steps in what looked like a ritual dance. "Some demons can freeze heart with breath. Some turn heads inside out with a touch." Round and round she went, where Mephisto had stood. Her hands traced patterns in the air, as if catching invisible dandelion seeds left behind. "Some burn like distant stars, others burn like wildfire. He is like none of those." Midori slowed to a halt, gradually lowering herself down from her tip-toe stance. "I wish I didn't know a demon like him existed."

"This is creepin' me out", Shizuku muttered, shaking his head. "I suspected he was bad, but he's _that_ bad?"

"I don't know: we're talking about a guy who wears Hello Kitty hairclips…"

* * *

He didn't think he'd succeeded very well in putting their worries at rest. Well, worrying about them wasn't his first priority. Himself, on the other hand…

Shiro paced a turn around his dorm instead of going in, unable to shake the creeping suspicions. What bothered him the most was that he was so relaxed around Mephisto. That meant he was falling for his act, even when he knew it was an act – or was likely to be an act, at any rate. And he really _shouldn't_ be at ease around him. He'd seen what Mephisto could be like, he'd had his soul taken hostage by the bastard: why in all heavens didn't he feel more threatened by him?

Midori and Ryuuji could bias one's feelings. Could Mephisto…? Well, he _was_ a demon, and a powerful one at that. Yet Shiro hadn't felt any of the sort around him. That you don't notice an influence doesn't mean there isn't one: on the contrary, the most dangerous kind of influence is the one you don't notice. He _could_ be under some sort of head-twisting, demonic spell without knowing it, bothersome as that thought was…

Unbidden, the image of Mephisto's drawing popped up in his thoughts and triggered a sudden burst of laughter. He took the cigarette from his lips and let it grow into a full-scale roar of laughter, echoing between the million stars. Oh, might as well! It _was_ funny. Crazy, dangerous, stupid, funny – the kind of things he'd always been drawn to…

" _Just what are you, Mephisto?_ " He grinned despite himself, the two sides of the principal repelling each other like oil and water in his mind. " _Well, you're unlike anything else, that's for sure…_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  Mephisto got it right where Shizuku didn't: the kanji for Shiro's name spells lion and son. I thought it would be a cute (and fitting) nickname, "little lion"… =3


	39. Birthdays and gifts

He really should be studying. No, that wasn't the proper way to express it. He _had_ to study. He had a stack of application papers rivalling the girth of _Comprehensive Demonology of the 20th Century_ , and he needed his grades top-notch if any of them was going to reward him a scholarship. He needed to put every waking hour into accomplishing that. Actually, what he needed was a bloody miracle.

Shiro sighed, put his pencil down, rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, they fell on the donkey Shizuku had carved for him. The pilgrim didn't even know how right he was… His thoughts clicked. Gift. Shizuku. _Birthday_.

" _Oh bloody…!_ " He threw on a jacket, sped through the corridor, down the stairs… " _I'm an ass, I'm an ass, I'm an ass… just wish I could run like one…_ "

He took flights of stairs four steps at a time, the half-remembered address rattling around in his head.

" _Mistletoe_ _Street_ , _something… some karaoke bar, down by-_ "

He swung himself over a banister and made a cool-looking roll when he landed a meter or two down in the flowerbed: that was the plan, at least. Just in case some hot girl was secretly meeting with her boyfriend and needed to know there were better goods on the market.

"Sorry, are you- Did you get a concussion, or should I try again?" Ew. He'd almost uttered an apology to Kita Yaonaru. And some other dude he hadn't landed on.

"Who is that?"

The other dude looked somewhat familiar. It was dark, but… oh, yeah: same look of snotty self-importance, same lanky build, same annoying tone. That could only be Yaonaru Akihiro, Kita's older brother.

"That's Fujimoto Shiro", Kita growled, shoving him aside and dusting himself off. "The orphan I was talking about."

"He does have the mouth of an unwashed street rat." Akihiro was _not_ as lanky as Kita, now that Shiro got a closer – too close – look. The Dragoon had him by a firm grip on his jacket lapels. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same", he replied, sounding as if he were exquisitely untroubled by almost being lifted from the ground. "I didn't know Kita-san dated."

"A rat with a clever mouth", he drawled, a dangerous note of steel in his voice. "And you will make good use of it. We need to have a little talk."

"And you need to see a doctor", he smiled and headbutted him on the bridge of his nose. It made a very satisfying sound.

Shiro tore free and darted off towards True Cross Town, faster than before, not bothering to check if he was being tailed or not. He could probably have gotten very useful information from the exchange, but there was also a high probability he'd be eating soup for the rest of his life. He would have to figure it out some other way. Maybe it was about time he beat Kita up…

* * *

Shiro arrived sweaty, dishevelled, short of breath, and wouldn't have been let into the karaoke bar if Midori hadn't been down in the street-floor restaurant to get food. Shiro wished he'd been a woman: all she did was smile at the doorkeeper, and every thought of code and regulations evaporated visibly from the man in a heart-shaped cloud.

"Sorry man…! I forgot, but… I'm here now… so… happy birthday…!" Shiro captured Shizuku in a bear hug when Midori had escorted him to their karaoke lounge: a comfy, cosy room with couches and two tables, just big enough for the handful of people there. "Really, I was busy studying, so I haven't… haven't gotten you anything… except Yaonaru Akihiro's blood", he added, seeing the stain he'd managed to smudge on Shizuku's shirt.

"That the friend ye were telling me 'bout? I like 'im", a female voice said.

Shiro turned and was greeted by a petite little thing in traditional clothing, smiling up at him like a pixie. What a sweetie. And what curves.

"I'll be even more likeable after a wash – but I'm very likeable while washing, too, if you'd prefer that."

"Sounds ta me like ye could take one pine in each end, bigmouth~" she smiled sweetly.

"Well", Shizuku grinned, putting an arm around the she-devil, "meet my big sis Kasumi."

"The woman just kicked me in the nuts: think you could look a little more smug…?"

"Would I nevah", she grinned: same grin she wore in Shizuku's old photography. "Not one who clouted Masamaru-san's eldest right in 'is ugly mug."

"I know ya better than ta think ye'd be joking", Shizuku said, examining the stain. "How is the bastard?"

"He'll be fine: his nose won't."

Shizuku and Kasumi cracked up in unison. They had the same kind of hearty, unrestrained laughter, only in different octaves.

"That's the best birthday present evah! Yaonaru Akihiro's nose!" she guffawed, hanging on Shizuku for support as much as he hung on her.

It was a great evening. It was the kind of evening you don't really remember: you just get a warm, snug feeling in your chest whenever you think of it. The lounge was a big one, deep red and black in colour, with several tables and cosy sofas lining the walls. When Midori understood how the microphone worked there was no getting her away from the karaoke. And whoever got a few drinks in Ryuuji did him a great favour: he gathered courage enough to pick up the other microphone, and his voice and Midori's mingled like tea and honey. Sen found a Futotsuki cousin among the guests, Kasumi told stories from her travels, Shizuku joined in with anecdotes that had them both break down in laughter.

"…and then 'e was scared o' butterflies 'til 'e was at least twelve!"

"Well whaddaya think?" He tried to look grumpy, but failed miserably. "Ye caught one by the wings, showed me that trunk an' told me they used it ta suck ye' brains outta yer ear. I was only eight!"

"Old enough ta know I'd be pullin' ye' leg", she chuckled around the fragrant miswak* she had started chewing after the meal.

Seeing Shizuku and Kasumi was… strange. Shiro couldn't quite pinpoint what the sensation was. He had a feeling they were both laughing before they had told the joke; had finished each other's sentences before they started talking. He and Shizuku shared many laughs, but this… this was something he could never compete with. It was as if the siblings were the same being, split in two bodies.

Wonder what it was like, to have somebody you'd known your whole life...

"Why don't you have any junk in your face?"

Shiro would never talk like that to a girl, but Kasumi… wasn't like other girls. She didn't smile: she grinned.** She didn't sit: she lounged. And whatever foul-mouthed things he said, she could call his vocabulary and raise by ten.

"Can't drag 'round unnecessary luggage." Kasumi pulled her collar down to show a black warding symbol on her collarbone. "I stayed a while with the Futotsukis an' got 'em in my skin instead."

She might not act like a girl, but she sure had some nice boobs…

"Oh, I almost fe'got. Hang on…" She dug around the numerous little pockets she had sewn into her belt and clothes. "Somewhere… here! Shizzy told me demons take a shine te ya, but with this baby ye'll be 's attractive as cat shit."

"Yeah, doesn't that sound tempting…?"

Kasumi held out a simple necklace for him: a little wooden star on a thong, crafted with the care of a bloodline artisan. Accepting it with a small bow of his head, Shiro turned it over for inspection. No warding symbols anywhere, just a geometrical shape… He tried counting the points but got lost over and over. Too much sake, probably…

"…fight, ye know."

Most peoples' ears perk up instinctively when they hear their names; Shiro's perked up when there was talk of fighting.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. What fight?"

"The Futotsuki clan's experiencing a li'l civil unrest in the ranks; 's why I brought Kohaku-kun with me." Kasumi stabbed a thumb in the direction of the two Futotsukis. "'e wanted ta join the Order, but his ma wouldn't let 'im. It's moving towards the point where we'll have two Futotsuki clans: one with the Order an' one fighting 'gainst it." She took the twig out of her mouth and sipped some water – like Shizuku, she wouldn't touch alcohol. "They threatened cuttin' his seal, an' that's pretty severe punishment over there. These people mean business." She put her glass down with a decisive clank. "An' I mean ta take the business ta the top dog 'imself."

"Ye're gonna talk ta Pheles?" Shizuku's eyebrows rose.

"Did teday", she smiled, twirling the root between her fingers. "'e wasn't what I'd expected. Charming fella', fer a demon. More well-mannered than many humans." She winked at Shiro, who carefully masked how hard that one hit. He was second to _Mephisto_ …?

"Ye didn't tell me Pheles was a demon when I said I was gonna enrol at True Cross."

"Ye'd find that out anyway, wouldn'tcha?" she replied with the look only a smug elder sibling can have.

Shizuku huffed through a smile.

"Still lettin' me pick the nettles ta know they sting, huh? So how was 'e?"

"I told 'im 'e's probably the only one who can straighten things out with the Futotsuki. The Order sends an exorcist representative ta negotiate an' he'll come runnin' back with half his ass eaten off by familiars. They send a _demon_ ta negotiate…" She spread her hands and made a face that said _problem solved_. "Ye gotta stroke the dog the right way. He agreed with that, said 'e'd find the time ta go there as soon as 'e could."

"I mean how was _he_?" Shizuku repeated. "Is the Vatican right in trusting 'im?"

Kasumi shrugged.

"'e's been with the Vatican's long as anyone can rememba': hasn't torn down Saint Peter's yet."

"That half-demon girl, Midori-chan", he nodded his head in the direction of Midori, who was trying to get Sen to sing a duet. "When she met Pheles, I tell ye her ears touched 'er shoulders. She was scared shitless, man. Said she wished she didn't know a demon like 'im existed."

"Ain't gonna argue with a half-demon on that – she's got 'er wits about 'er, that girl. Now, I wouldn't pick a fight with 'im, either, but I figured from the start 'e wouldn't be yer average joker. If the Vatican's gonna keep a guardian dog they'll wanna keep one that can bite", Kasumi observed in relaxed tones. "Leave the worries, Shizzy: it's ye' birthday! Oi, everybody!" she shouted over her shoulder. "How 'bout getting' the birthday boy up on stage fer a lil' singin'? Sounds like when 'e snores, just louder!"

It took quite a few drinks to get Shiro up to sing. The exact number was never established, but it was approximately when he'd lost count three times and saw the same amount of eyes on people he looked at. At that point he was as good at singing as Shizuku was. Not that he minded: howling Iwasaki Hiromi off-key with a Midori who laughed too hard to stand was about as good as life could get.

Shiro was still singing when he hobbled down the corridor, took the wrong door twice and eventually found his room. Sweet as cake; now, if only the floor would stop moving long enough for him to catch his bed… The thump when he hit the desk might not have woken Saburota up, but the crash of the chair tipping certainly did.

"Fujimoto…?" He lit his bed lamp and reached for his glasses. "What is…? You're _drunk_."

"No, I'm plastered", he grinned. How was it again…? Feet on the floor first, and then you used your hands to… "I don't care what they say, man: Midori-tschan likes me. She's so cute, you wouldn't believe…" Coordinating feet, hands and speech was too much: Shiro slumped back to the floor with a surprised grunt.

"You're a disgrace", Saburota frowned.

Shiro did have a good response for that. Somewhere.

"I hope you're proud of the connotations you give the True Cross Academy uniform when you wear it in public like this", Saburota said in icy tones, brusquely hauling him to his feet.

"…you should have a… a b'nana through yer 'ead", Shiro grinned drunkenly, leaning heavily on Saburota. "Then at least you'd _look_ fun…"

"You have had enough _fun_ for today." He dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. "Sleep it off. We are going to talk about this tomorrow."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **A miswak** is a twig from the tree/shrub Salvadora persica, traditionally used as a toothbrush in many places across the world.
> 
>  **First time** I ever make practical use of sociolinguistics. =P One peculiarity in certain social circles of (contemporary) Japanese women is a slightly altered pronunciation caused by speaking while trying not to show too much teeth: being too frivolous in showing teeth is considered un-feminine. I have no idea if this applied forty years ago (or if it applies now, what with the rapidly changing fashion and all) but it does sound like a plausible convention, and I figure it was even more important back then for women to stick to a feminine ideal. Unless you're Honda Kasumi.
> 
>  **Recall that scene** in ch 39 where Mephisto seats Rin at the table for their little chat…? Noticed those folded napkins? That's a variation of a napkin folding called "The Pope's Hat", if my eyes don't betray me (coincidence? No~).
> 
> (…and why on earth do I know such things? Ó.ò)
> 
>  **Inner interviewer:** "Welcome back, Dimwit! The latest AnE-chapter [39] didn't screw your plot, then."
> 
>  **Dimwit:** "I haven't even opened my mouth; how did you know that?" 0.0'
> 
>  **Interviewer:** *gestures around* "I'm in your head, you know. And I'm still here. Knowing your unhealthy perfectionist tendencies, if canon had ganked your fic you would've flushed it down the drain and started over from scratch."
> 
>  **Dimwit:** "No I wouldn't…"
> 
>  **Interviewer:** "Yes. You would. But we're still here – so! I hear you set a new personal track record?"
> 
>  **Dimwit:** "Well, you know: too much happiness in the system can't be healthy in the long run… =^w^= I was afraid that everything would turn external crêpe (= turns out so bad it disintegrates out of embarrassment of its own existence), but when I had read ch 39 I virtually danced around the track. Rather than ganking my ideas, "Mephisto" actually confirmed them – all of them… ('cept the name, but that's already been taken care of)! *high-fives Midori* I was prepared for changing ch 25 in the future, o-hohoho, won't have to~! x3 That said, it did kind of mess with this whole wards/barrier thing I had going. I mean if Mephisto can stop time, he could just stop time the moment he noticed a ward had been torn and go catch the culprit. -.-' The ward thing was a loan from the anime so I suppose it was never really canon compliant anyway. Now that we've seen how Mephisto really repairs his school barrier and all... I have this solution in mind: these things are, after all, taking place 30 years before the actual series. Things change. Mephisto's ward/barrier system turned out to be impractical to manage 30 years ago, so by the time Rin and Yukio attend his school he has changed it to the current card-house system instead."
> 
>  **Interviewer:** "...how much of this fic is stuff you just make up on the spot to make it comply with canon?" -.-'
> 
>  **Dimwit:** "A lot?" =0w0'= "A lot." x'D


	40. Memories and manners

A secret that changed the course of your life, a decision made on the brink of hell; a regret that eats you like rot inside.

" _As if normal people have secrets like that…!_ "

Irony reached new heights of perfection as Shiro walked the familiar steps up to Mephisto's office, chewing on his cigarette. This had to be the first time in life his problem was that he didn't have _enough_ problems. The hangover churned faintly in the back of his head as he tried to think of something he could pass off as payment to Mephisto. Could he make up a secret…? Probably not. Wouldn't want to be caught trying to trick _him_.

"So~" Oh, great. The cat had already eaten the canary and was ready for dessert, if the look on his face was any indication. "Got a debt to settle?"

"Tch. Lemme get in through the door at least." He shuffled past Mephisto without looking at him, over to their usual training spot. "And I need my smoke, so give that back, will you?" He held out his empty hand.

At first he'd thought it was pure forgetfulness – wouldn't put that past his sleep-deprived brain. But as his lighter kept disappearing during swords practice, and reappearing again after swords practice, he suspected it was less forgetfulness and more sorcery.

Mephisto crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side with a bored look. No, not bored. More of a question, and a little bit of a…

"Give me my lighter, _please_?" Shiro rephrased, complying rather than making the fuss he'd usually do. No need to make it harder than it had to be. It stung his pride on some fundamental, idiotic level but that didn't matter right now. He didn't let it matter right now.

Mephisto's lips stretched in a satisfied grin. He snapped his fingers, and the lighter landed in Shiro's palm. Then he snapped his fingers again, and sat back in a horrid armchair with his hands folded and legs crossed.

" _Tch…_ " Well, let him get comfy in his floating furniture. Shiro sat down on the balustrade and lit his smoke. " _Whatever it takes…_ "

He let the smoke out slowly. There was only one secret to tell, really. One he'd endeavoured to keep secret from himself for quite some time.

"My mom was a housewife", he began, watching the red glow of the cigarette. If he just pretended he was talking to himself, maybe… "My dad was in the industry, some high position of sorts – we were well off, anyway. Dad was… nice, I guess. Successful, sociable, had many friends and all that. The kind of guy people instantly like. Then when I came home from school one day, I saw him with a woman I didn't know." He blew out a fan of smoke. "Hiromi-san she was called, mom told me." His lips quirked into a smile that wasn't a smile. " _She even knew her name…_ " Focus, dammit: don't make it harder than it had to be. "Mom kept cooking dinner and smiling and asking how his day at work had been, just like always. She sprinkled sesame seeds over my rice, like always. Nothing changed, and everything changed." He tapped ashes off in the water. "You can't hide something like that from a kid. She hated it. She hated every minute of it, and still she kept performing some sick, god-awful theatre, every day. Him, too. Pretended like nothing, smiled his smile as always and pretended everything was fine when he came home late, or didn't come home at all: he even said he would break it off, time and again, said he wouldn't see her anymore…"

Be the master of your emotion, acknowledge the darkness, don't let it take control… Shiro exhaled the tension in his throat with the smoke.

"Hiromi-san did disappear, eventually. When she was done swindling all our money. Turned out dad had been borrowing from the company, even. So we were broke and out of work, the family name shamed despite mom's attempts to save face. So she killed herself." The words were so light in his mouth, like the slightly compressed air they were.

It didn't feel like his lips speaking them. Somehow, it felt like someone else.

"At her funeral, I didn't pick a single bone from the ash. Dad was a mess. He blamed himself, he drank, he ranted, never got another job." Shiro stroked the smooth surface of the lighter with his thumb. "And one day when I got home, he wasn't there. I didn't think much of it – didn't miss him." The sting of betrayal... hurt. Still hurt. It always would, he suspected. "Then the next day, the police come and tell me dad's been run over by the train. Whether he jumped, or he was drunk and fell…" He took the cigarette from his lips, watched the almost burnt-out glow at the tip and felt the restless fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. "I attacked the policemen with a kitchen knife. Shock and grief, the shrink called it – no, I was just pissed out of my mind. Pissed that he'd killed himself before I could kill him."

Some words aren't just compressed air: they have soul, weight, shape – taste, even. The taste of something old and rotten, left for oblivion to feast on until only those sharp, hard bones remain in the subconscious.

" _I would have killed him…_ "

People at the orphanage had learnt not to talk about his parents. They all thought his temper flared because he was ashamed of how they had died. Tch…

"I still wish they were alive", he confessed to himself, amazed that his voice sounded so steady. "Both of them. I'd kill both of them if they were." Spineless bastards, weaving a world of self-justifying lies, neither better than the other… "The night that tengu tried to snatch me, it spoke to me. 'Such a ruthless boy, not even mourning your own parents', it said. What's there to mourn, when they were just masks with painted smiles?" The butterflies in his belly fluttered out into his blood vessels and fanned a strange, choking excitement; not unlike the feeling of picking a lock in broad daylight. He was doing something forbidden, something stupid and reckless; a strange mix of fear and exhilaration bubbling in his chest. "It's true that I'm ruthless. It's true I'm not a good person. I never mourned my parents."

Truth: so fearsome from afar, but when held up for scrutiny like this… No, he wasn't a good person. He'd never mourned his parents, nor was he ashamed of how they'd died: he'd been ashamed of how he wished they'd died. Ashamed of the truth he'd never shared with anyone.

"They say no fire can burn forever", he tapped off more ashes from the cigarette, "but it's burnt a long time alright. I can't remember what kind of kid I was before it – all I know is I wasn't the same. I got out on the streets, out into picking locks and stealing and fighting. I decided I wouldn't hide it, wouldn't deny it: wouldn't smile and keep the show going, like they did. I decided that if I was a ruthless bastard, I'd be a ruthless bastard. If I was angry, I'd show it." That weird smile quirked his lips again. "As for regret, I don't really have any. The only thing I regret is that I didn't get the chance to kill them. How's that for settling a debt?"

No feat of strength had ever been as taxing as lifting his head and looking Mephisto in the eye. But he had to. He had to tell him that last, wordless secret: that he didn't miss the kid he'd once been. That ruthlessness was as much part of his nature as the colour of his eyes, and he embraced it without hesitation or shame.

Mephisto's face was hard to read, of course: it was meant to be. 'His smile is dagger, always'…

"The debt is settled~" Tch, even his voice was hard to read… "And the story of mankind turns yet another page to the same old chapter." He uncrossed his legs, and with a snap of his fingers he changed into his silly-looking hakama. "Now, to put that killing intent to the test~"

* * *

Not long into sparring practice Mephisto's ears twitched, as if reached by an irritating sound.

"A ward has been compromised", he frowned, sheathing his katana. "Excuse me for a moment."

What to do, when spare time drops on your lap like that? In Shiro's case it was obvious: you catch a few minutes of sleep. He flopped down in the ugly chair. It didn't fly with him. Pity.

" _Yaonaru, Futotsuki, or Agari…_ " He let his head fall back to rest against the back of the armchair. Mephisto would look into the Futotsuki matter. Yaonaru was conducting shady business. Agari… he would have to talk to.

Shiro's head rolled sideways, looking for some way of approaching her without seeming to be probing. The best way would probably be…

…ice-cream? Down here? No, just the handle of Mephisto's awful umbrella sticking up from behind the armrest. A smile tugged the corner of Shiro's mouth. Heavens knew where Mephisto got all his stuff from.

" _I can't imagine any shop selling something like th-_ "

The instant he grabbed the handle, it flew out of his hand. Literally. Shiro stared up at a huge, pink bat that fired an ear-shattering screech at him. And dove.

He rolled out of the chair and ducked under the next air strike: the claws missed their mark, but the ice-cream-tipped tail struck stars into his field of vision. Shiro staggered to his feet and lunged for his sword.

" _I probably shouldn't kill his familiar_ ", he realized, grasping the handle just in time to deflect the sharp head-spike the bat tried to impale him on. " _But it's damn set on killing me._ "

He dodged its massive, pink wings as the demon attempted to halt its momentum, and got himself smoothly in range for its claws. It shrieked with glee and snagged him.

" _Well, doesn't this seem familiar?_ " he snorted as he was hauled into the air with a powerful beat of the demon's wings. " _At least it's just the shirt this time._ " Not waiting for the bat to realize that, he tore the front of his shirt open and lifted his arms to slip out of- " _Wait, I'm high up in…!_ "

Shiro plummeted into the water with the elegance of a one-winged albatross.

" _And thinking doesn't go bloody well at all in Shiro-kun…!_ " he yelled at himself, checking the impulse to gasp as the sudden cold bit goose bumps into his bare skin.

A water surface is a gate to another world: one of silence, and darkness, and timeless absence of gravity. The translucent blackness chased the silver bubbles to the surface like a school of panicked herring. Shiro kept himself underwater, where the light from the lanterns was just bright enough to let him navigate to the protecting edge of a platform. Arms and legs cut sluggishly through the cold. His head ached from cold, his face numbed, and little bubbles of air leaked from his lips. The air hadn't been so cold: the water… it must come from an underground stream or something.

Shiro kept his lips tightly shut as he slowly let his face above the surface, lest he shudder and make a sound. The bat swooped in circles, scanning the water for traces of its prey and screeching like a banshee.

"My my, can't take my eyes off you even for a minute…" The bat made a sharp turn, flying back to its master and perching on his outstretched hand like a falconry bird. Mephisto cocked his head, as if listening. "Well, he's an uncivilized monkey", he answered the shrieks and chirps of the bat. "One can't expect a human to understand manners." He put his other hand to his hip, and the disinterested gaze moved to Shiro. "This specimen in particular has a profound lack of such."

"Wh-wh-who's lack-cking m-m-manners?" he clattered, keeping himself afloat with arms that could just as well have been senseless driftwood. "It at-t-t-tacked me!"

"And for good reason: taking hold of a demon's tail is a very grave transgression of etiquette."

"I did-d-d-dn't know it was a b-b-bloody demon!" he snarled, barely feeling his lips. "And you d-do it all the t-t-time!"

"I'm his master: I can do whatever I please."

"Fine – just get m-m-me out of here!"

"The question is; would that please me…?"

Shiro shot him a murderous glare. Playing hard to get now? _Now_?

"Oi, I know you're sm-m-miling on the ins-s-side, you c-clown! If you d-d-don't-t get me outta here right-t-t now I'll catch pneum-m-monia again, and this t-time I swear I'll cough on you!"

The platform edge was too high to climb. Mephisto knew damn well it was too high to climb.

"Tsk tsk, poor manners indeed~"

It's unclear how such an instinct could have remained through countless generations of evolution striving towards survival, but Shiro did ponder if drowning was a better option than saying "please".

" _Shizuku would love carving my grave marker: 'and he died as he lived: in stupidity'_." Screw dignity, then. "P-p-p-leas-se get me up."

Mephisto cocked his head with a pleasant smile.

"I distinctly remember a very rude insinuation concerning my relations to the Vatican…?"

" _Oh sure, rattle off the whole list while you're at it…!_ " Never mind that he couldn't feel his feet, hands, or lower arms. "I ap-p-pologize for comp-paring y-you with a c-c-call girl."

"And I seem to recall some unjustified accusations of eavesdropping…?"

Mephisto had very good memory: that was the only positive thing Shiro had to say about him at the moment. He was halfway into hypothermia when the umbrella-bat was finally sent to pull him out of the water. It dropped him unceremoniously on the pavement, where he staggered awkwardly on his quaking legs and numb feet, hugged his violently shivering body, and wished he could spontaneously grow fur.

"Thank you kindly", he said in a voice as dripping cold as his toes.

"Hmm-m, perhaps we should work on sincerity once we have established some manners~?" Mephisto smiled and snapped his fingers.

The sopping wet trousers unlatched from his legs and were replaced by… nothing. A very big, very fluffy, and very bright bathrobe enveloped him.

" _He really did take purple this time_ ", he thought, distracting himself from the fact that Mephisto had also poofed away his underwear. He pulled the heavenly soft, warm garment tighter around himself. "What d-did you do to m-m-my clothes?"

"It wouldn't be commendable for a gentleman to leave you in wet clothes, nor would it be healthy for you to wear them: I sent them to the laundry room in your dorm."

Gentleman, after leaving him in the water like that? What a hypocrite… but if Shiro said that aloud, he might lose the bathrobe too…

"C-couldn't-t-t you have sen m-me with them? You expect me t-t-to keep-p-p training like this?" He flapped the arms of the bathrobe demonstratively and earned a surprisingly disapproving face: namely, the combined effect of ears pulling downwards along with his thin eyebrows, and a discreet vibration in the hair curl.

"A certain young lady has rewarded you a gift, it would seem: a great stellated dodecahedron." A what…? But now that he mentioned it, the star pendant Kasumi had given him was still around his neck. Couldn't poof that away, could he…? "If you wish to be reunited with your clothes I recommend you take that off. It makes my teeth tingle", Mephisto added, crinkling his nose in disgust.

"You could just poof my dry c-c-clothes here." He'd gotten his will through enough for one day. Now it was Shiro's turn.

"You forget that I haven't seen where you keep your clothes", he replied. "Either you take that offensive thing off, or you walk back as you are."

Walking back to the dorm, buck naked underneath a purple bathrobe with the principal's monogram on it… Shiro would've laughed hysterically if he hadn't been shivering so badly. Imagining Saburota's face almost made it worth it. Almost.

"Fine", he grinned through clattering teeth, still visualizing the dumbstruck students as he lifted the thong over his head. "But I want it back."

"No need to fear I would keep such a thing."

He held it out to Mephisto, but it was the umbrella-bat that snatched it and flew away. Come to think of it, it had attacked him even when he wore it…

"How come he can take it and not you? Weren't you supposed to be powerful…?"

"You compare _me_ to a karakasa obake? A Prince, to a trifling little house spirit?" Mephisto's hair-curl twitched indignantly, and the scowl deepened. "Tsukumogami are so low-level they can only possess inanimate household objects: they are hardly even worth making charms against. Kasumi-chan's charm is designed to block the magic of much higher ranked demons."

Shiro made a mental note to target Mephisto's royal ego next time he wanted to annoy him. Apparently, Princes in the demon world disliked comparisons with "lower classes" as much as human princes used to.

"Well, sucks for you, your highness. Could you poof me to the dorm now?"

"It's not called 'poof'. It's…"

Now, that was unusual: Mephisto never got his tongue in a knot. He seemed as surprised as Shiro was – and annoyed.

"It's what?" Shiro asked curiously.

"Human language doesn't have a proper word for it."

"It has now: poof", he grinned.

Mephisto looked like he'd eaten something he didn't want to eat but was too well-mannered to spit out.

"You have absolutely no sense of style."

"Coming from a guy who dresses like a Renaissance drag queen? You can go poof yourse-"

*poof~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> Checking up on Japanese funeral customs was quite the experience. I'm not going to bother you with the whole list, but after the body is cremated the relatives pick the bones from the ash using chopsticks, and put them in the burial urn. This is also the only time it's okay for two people to hold the same object (a femur would require that, I imagine) with chopsticks: do it with food and you're committing a grave err in etiquette. (Alright, maybe you knew that, but I didn't...)
> 
> A charm that can limit Mephisto? Hard to find. =X Going back to Göthe's Faust, we're told that he is sealed in Faust's house by a Druid's/Wizard's Foot (not SSB-Ganondorf's attack… though I am a little tempted to draw fanart of that…), more commonly known as a pentagram. I didn't feel like hanging a pentagram around Shiro's neck, it feels far too simple for someone like Mephisto… But geometry is interesting in its own, and has a long history with trapping/directing energies in many cultures worldwide. So I picked up on the King of Time (and Space?) notion and went into four-dimensional geometry to find a fitting charm. A four-dimensional representation of the pentagram would be the great stellated dodecahedron: difficult enough to pronounce, good enough to "seal" the wearer from Mephisto's ability to bend time (1 dimension) and space (3 dimensions). x'D Probably not canon… but anyway… give me some credit for dedication…?
> 
> I'm not saying Kasumi knew who Mephisto is: all I'm saying is she would give Shiro a charm that could protect him from most of the things (stronger) demons can get up to. And I like annoying Mephisto as much as Shiro does… =^w^=
> 
>  **Tsukomogami** are any household item that has gained a life of its own through, well, long living: supposedly 100 years (who can maintain an umbrella for that long…?), and they can be anything from straw sandals to umbrellas. The latter are more specifically called karakasa obake.


	41. Knight in shining bathrobe

Bending space is for demons: humans don't take well to that kind of transport. Aside the uncomfortable feeling that all cells in his body were a little askew, Shiro had no idea where he was. He hadn't expected Mephisto to actually drop him in the dorm, with that remark… Worth it, though. His irritated face was superbly addictive. Now, to get back on familiar territory… He was still on the steep mountain of concrete and jutting brick structures that was True Cross Academy, but other than that…

Shiro started walking, shoeless. His feet were numb enough not to be bothered with the hard, cold ground anyway. And if he did get sick, he had a promise to fulfil~

Oh, if he'd only had his cigarettes… it was a night made for walking. The sky was dark, without the chill translucence of winter, and spring was budding along the walkways. It was the kind of night you could walk through dreams, walk until the edge of the world burned with vibrant birdsong. Soon the night market would open, with lights and music and takoyaki and oden… and dates with Midori… He smiled. Didn't think it would be such a nice day, with the lost bet and that.

He'd told Mephisto the truth about his parents: it was so surreal he didn't really believe it had happened, but his memory told him so. It didn't feel… smart. To let a demon know something like that. But it was still okay, because it wasn't a secret that could be used against him. He _hadn't_ killed anyone. And when he had said aloud that he wished he had, it was kind of… liberating.

Fear lies in the shadows, not in the objects they hide. Humanity may have found ways to light the darkness with fire and electricity, but she had yet to chase away the darkness in her heart and mind. And, strange as it was, a demon had lit up part of the darkness in Shiro's.

He knew where he was when he spotted the faint, asymmetrical lump outlined in the sky at the end of a spindly-legged aqueduct: Moriyama's supply shop. He wasn't that far from the dorms, then. Mephisto had been kind enough to drop him inside the warding circle so he wouldn't get jumped by demons again: no matter what Shizuku or books said, there seemed to be a correlation between broken fake wards and demons getting into the Academy.

Shouts and shrieks cut through the stillness. His first thought was that some ward was down and a demon had gotten through. The voice was a woman's, but it sounded more angry than frightened. Probably not a demon, then.

Shiro jogged in the direction of the shouting. The asshole part of him said that a hot girl could be very _grateful_ if he saved her from whatever bothered her: the intelligent part of him reminded him dryly that heroic knights came in shining armour, not purple bathrobes.

" _Oh, of course: it's the guy who needs saving…_ " Shiro drew a deep breath, and let out a sigh that could knock down mountains. " _Let's see if I can fix this without making it worse._ "

"…what love is in the first place!" he discerned from a caustic, very un-womanly voice as he approached. "You're a soulless _thing_ , a spawn of hell that should be sent back where you belong!"

"Oi, Agari-chan! Shouldn't you be practicing 'don't kick a man who's lying down', 'turn the other cheek', 'love your enemy', and all that?"

"Says the man who sleeps with demons!" she snarled at him, absolutely livid. Ryuuji was still standing, but his hopes and dreams were all over the ground in post-mortem spasms. "You're blasphemers, all of you – this whole school is a Babylon that makes mockery of the Order of the True Cross! A demon in the principal's office and teachers that treat the abominations as pets! And half-blooded freaks that think they're human just because they have their own bodies!" She stabbed a finger at Ryuuji, every contorted muscle in her face saying she wished it had been a sword. Well, he recoiled as if it were one. "Don't you ever talk to me again! Don't ever soil my name in your mouth! Don't even look at me! And don't even _think_ that I would love some _creature_ like you!"

"Oi, that's harsh. A guy likes you – you should be hap-"

"Happy?!" Her murderous glare locked onto him like a laser scope. For a moment, he thought she was going to hit him again. "He's got evil coded into his very DNA! The only way he could make me _happy_ is by dropping dead!"

Agari turned on her heel and stalked away, fury making the night around her cringe. Shiro glanced at Ryuuji to assess the damage. He couldn't have looked worse if he'd been dragged after a freight train across the length of the Trans-Siberian.

"Well, for what it's worth, we did try to warn-" Shiro lost his thread when Ryuuji buried his face in his shoulder and cried. "Uh, it's okay, big guy..."

Comforting people was not a skill Shiro had ever developed, among other handy things - like sewing buttons and hemming trousers - that he never expected he would need to do. In the end, he settled for patting Ryuuji's back awkwardly.

"I wah-wah-was waiting at her po-orch", he hiccupped and snivelled. "And I heard he-her come back… But when she s-saw me she tu-tu-turned and left…"

His broken heart dropped shards at every word, and once again Shiro was reminded that he was an asshole. He wasn't thinking of Ryuuji's pain: he was thinking of what Agari was doing out late at night alone.

* * *

He'd left Ryuuji with Shizuku and excused himself to go looking for Agari before anybody brought up the bathrobe. Well, he tried, at least…

"There you are, Fujimoto-kun. Now, presuming you have sobered up since- What in the world are you wearing?" Under other circumstances, Shiro would've savoured Saburota's dumbstruck face.

"If you really have to know, I fell in the pond, and this lady who lived nearby was kind enough to lend me a bathrobe. I said I'd return it to her as soon as I'd gotten some dry clothes, so if you don't mind…?" He tugged the collar edges of the bathrobe to indicate he was going to change, and also conveniently covered Mephisto's monogram with his arm.

"You fell in a pond." Saburota had turned his back to him at his desk. "Drunk again?"

"No, just thought I'd see how well I could balance across the bridge banister."

"Drunk, then." Saburota had a gift for saying a lot with very few words. In some people, that will give rise to immortal quotes: in others, it will lend two words enough weight to crash down on one's nerves like a sledgehammer. "I don't have to tell you that that kind of behaviour will not be tolerated as long as you share this room with me. You have a duty to this school, and to exorcism as a profession, to be representative of certain standards. With the amount of work you have undertaken, I would have thought you understood that."

"No need to talk to me like I'm a kid", Shiro muttered, buttoning up his shirt and realizing that he still didn't know how to do a tie. "I'm nineteen in a month and a half, I can take care of myself."

"If you could act your age, I wouldn't have to."

"You're the one not acting your age", he retorted snidely, trying to untangle the tie from his glasses string. "You're like some robot programmed to do nothing but study and work. You've never been drunk, have you? Never had a date, never fooled around with friends late at night. Man, your life must suck." No response from the straight back – he was probably wearing that poker face of his, pushing up his glasses as he always did. "Anyway", he said, putting a cigarette between his teeth, "I'm going out."

His shoes were sopping wet, but he got them from the laundry room anyway. And his lighter.

When he knocked on the door in the girls' dorm, Natsuya opened. At first she stared blankly at him – and then, a spark of recognition:

"Oh, it's you." Recognition not of the good kind. "At ten-thirty p.m. Why?"

"I'm here on behalf of a friend", he said, not missing the annoyed tone and trying to get his business done as quick as possible. "He and Agari-chan had a fight, so I'm here to straighten things out."

"Then you're in the wrong place – Fujimoto-kun, was it? Agari-san's dorm is the one down by the poplars." Seeing the nonplussed look on his face, she sighed. "The trees that grow fluffy, white seeds that look like cotton in early autumn. You know which ones I mean?"

"Oh. I thought she lived here."

"Obviously, since you came here", she said dryly. "She's a friend of mine – doesn't have many friends in her own year class. Now, do you know what a poplar tree looks like?"

"Yeah, no problem. Thanks, and… good night."

"Same to you."

He trotted on towards the second dorm from the great staircase. "The one down the poplar trees"– girls just couldn't give directions, how many people knew what a poplar looked like…?

When he knocked on Agari's door, he was prepared: when she saw him, she slammed the door shut as hard as he could – or pretty damn hard, at least. His foot told him so.

"I'm just here to talk, okay? And if I say or do anything that makes you mad, just whack me."

"I have nothing to say to you", she said, rigid as a rock in both voice and posture.

"That's okay, then I can talk instead." He really must've gotten stronger from training: when he put some muscle into it, he could push the door open despite Agari's efforts.

"Fine, then", she grumbled. "Are you good with a walk?"

He didn't get to have a say, really. She had already taken her coat and stepped out in the corridor.

"You know he doesn't mean any harm. It's not his fault he was born a half-demon."

"It doesn't make him any less demonic."

They strolled aimlessly up and down the walkways of True Cross Academy. Well, Shiro strolled: Agari did a kind of slow march. He could feel his shoes soaking up the cold from the ground and coating his feet with promises of coughs and a runny nose.

"Physically, yeah. If he had been even slightly demonic in nature, tonight would've ended differently", Shiro said, seeing an opportunity to steer the conversation the right direction. "There's lots of things that can happen to a lone girl out late at night, and a ham-fisted half-demon confessing his love to you is one of the better things. What were you thinking? At least get Natsuya-senpai or somebody to accompany you."

"How unlike you, to worry about other humans' well-being", she said coolly.

"You hit me for being rude." Shiro folded his thumb in to count. "And you scorn me for being considerate." He folded his index finger in next. "Just how does a guy talk to you?"

"…I never really talked to boys, actually", she admitted - still rigid, but perhaps more out of unease? "The orphanage where I lived kept boys and girls separate."

"Oh? The one they sent me to was one of those government-operated storage facilities: no special separation there. Where were you?"

"St. Nicholas, quite far from here."

"Catholic orphanage?"

"Yes. The only time boys and girls were together was for meals, or when travelling scholars from the Vatican came to hold lessons."

"Huh." He wiggled the cigarette between his teeth. "And not one lesson was about not going out alone at night? Sounds like they missed a few vital parts in that education. What were you doing out here, really?" he asked, making it sound as off-handed as he could.

"I was out for a walk. What were _you_ doing? In that bathrobe?"

Nice change of subject. Quick, too. With someone as cold as Agari it can be difficult to tell if they lie; even more so when the change of subject is justified.

"You wouldn't believe it, really", he grinned at the ground under his feet. "I thought I could balance on the railing of the bridge across that small pond, over by the walkway to the groceries down town. Turns out I couldn't. A kind lady leant me a bathrobe so I wouldn't freeze when I went back to get dry clothes."

Agari… _chuckled._ Shiro almost lost track of what he was doing: her cold personality usually made him forget, but now that she displayed warm emotion he was reminded just how _gorgeous_ she could be.

"I find it hard to believe you are three years older than the rest of us. More like three years younger."

"That's what my roommate said, in less nice words. We go together like oil and water, really – but that's probably me. Believe it or not, I know I'm difficult to get along wi-"

The flapping wings were soundless, but the dark shape in the night sky was unmistakable.

" _You have the worst timing ever, Mephisto!_ "

The pink karakasa obake swooped down in the lamplight, aimed straight for them. It rose sharply up again, dropping some small thing that Shiro caught with ease before it flew away, refusing to have anything more to do with the uncivilized monkey that had pulled its tail. He opened his hand to find the great, sterilized dodake… dodili… star.

"Well, nice to have that back." He tried to act casual and put the thong over his head, taking care not to get it tangled with the glasses string. Good to have his hands up and ready, in case she was going to clout him again… " _You could've given it back on the next practice session, but no, you had to send it by airmail express tonight, just when I was about to get on Agari's good side again, and I had even made her smile…!_ " Mephisto would hear this later, that blasted old goat… "I lost it when I fell in the water. Didn't expect the familiar to- …what?"

Agari was not yelling about consorting with demons or other heresy. Her face had reverted to that cool, reserved stone-mask, but her demeanour was animated as ever. She took the pendant in her hand and leaned closer, turning it back and forth for inspection.

"A great stellated dodecahedron. Where did you get this?"

"I always have demons on my heels", he shrugged, taking the opportunity to draw in a breath of Agari's perfume. "Shizu-san's sister gave it to me when she passed by for his birthday celebration. Said it would keep them off my back."

"I hope you thanked her tenfold. This is a very powerful charm, and very difficult to make properly."

"You know a lot about this stuff?" he asked curiously.

"We didn't just have scholars visiting St. Nicholas", she said, leaving the star to rest against his chest. "Some were exorcists. They told us about demons and how to fight them. When I learnt humans _could_ fight them, I decided I would become an exorcist." She met his eyes with deep, dark brown ones that were shaded by thick eyelashes. Shiro tried to straighten up as discreetly as he could: if he didn't, their eyes were level. He would _not_ be shorter than a girl. "Why did you want to become an exorcist, three years late?"

The torn ward, the broken window, the demon behind the principal's desk, smiling at him; Agari's voluptuous breasts, so close…

"I just like to think things through carefully before I make important decisions."

Because when a girl with E-cup is standing so close your chest almost touches hers, no man can think up subtle lies. And the funny thing is, some lies are so blatant you wouldn't even suspect them to be lies.


	42. Man's best friend?

"I know school can be hard at times: private life, too, when you're young. I am under vow of silence, so you can tell me anything, Fujimoto-kun."

"Well, I have nothing to say to you", he said irritably. "And I don't understand why I have to be here."

"I think you do, Fujimoto-kun. And I think you need to be here. Trying to end your life is a desperate measure, a cry for help. I understand if you don't want to open up right away. Don't worry, we will have as many sessions as you need to-"

"I wasn't gonna kill myself." God, this was so ridiculous… if only those freshmen hadn't stumbled in on him… "I fell asleep."

The school psychologist gave him her most Understanding Look.

"With your head in the sink?"

"It's a very comfortable sink", he said offhandedly.

"Denial and diminishing of the problem is a natural reaction, Fujimoto-kun. It's okay. You can tell me when you feel comfortable with it."

"Oh for crap's sake – I was bleaching my hair, and I was a little tired, and I fell asleep. It ain't no stranger than that."

"It's ridiculous", he fumed, accompanying Ryuuji to the dorms to get some books the latter had forgotten for anti-demon pharmacology class. "And it stinks of Yaonaru. Kita-san's pulling strings to make life sour for me, and I can bet my ass he's the one who tipped the shrink off about my parents' suicides. They can't include such things in the regular school files, can they?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Sounds unlikely, though."

He'd been like that ever since Agari minced his self-esteem into sawdust. Taciturn. Distant. Down.

"Come on, Ryuuji-san!" Shiro snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to wake him up. "Shape up. Take the bull by the horns. Tell Pheles about it and he'll relegate her from the Academy."

"I… I don't want Agari-chan to be relegated", he mumbled. "She's had bad experience with- with demons. It takes a while to get over that. It will be okay, in a few years or so."

Outstanding. Incredible. He hadn't given up on her after that…?

"Oi, listen…" Don't screw this up. He'd been mangled by his love-interest, he didn't need to get mangled by his friend too. "Sometimes you love people with all your heart, but that doesn't count for anything if they don't love you back. You have to realize, it's not likely that Agari-chan will ever get over her demon-problem."

"You have to believe that people can change, Shiro-san."

"Sure they can", he smiled wryly around his unlit cigarette. "They just don't. Either they're too lazy, or they just can't be bothered. Look at me: I could change, I should change, but I don't."

"But you _are_ an exception in most instances."

A faint smile. Well, better than nothing.

"Yeah, well, so are you. Anybody else would've dropped the chase after she chewed your ears off like that. Wanna know what I think?" he asked, eyebrows slightly raised, cigarette wiggling. "You and I are on the extremes of the scale, and we really should move towards the middle and save ourselves a lot of trouble. I should get more tolerant, you should be less tolerant. How does that sound?"

"Um… smart? I mean, it doesn't sound _wrong_ , but I don't know…"

Back at his stammering uncertainty, then. A good thing? Well, it wasn't worse…

"Alright, if I put it like this: tell me, honestly; you think it was wrong of Agari-chan to say those things about you, don't you?"

Ryuuji nodded. Some need to get burnt before they learn not to stick their hand in a fire, but at least sooner or later they learn.

"And you can agree with me when I say she's intolerant and has a nasty temper, right?"

He nodded again, fidgeting with a Koutetsu Jeeg key ring on his satchel.

"And you still think that's a horse worth betting on?"

At some point during the conversation, Shiro realized just how much the situation reminded him of the shoujo manga he'd borrowed from Mephisto: one girl giving advice to her love-struck friend. It was hilarious and creepy at the same time.

"Look", Shiro sighed. "I've said it before: remember what she almost did to Midori-chan. Agari-chan meant every word she said to you. She's fully capable of killing a half-demon, and the only reason she hasn't tried to do you in is 'cause Pheles will give her hell for it. Now explain to me; where's the sense in loving someone who thinks you're hellspawn that should be killed?"

"I- I think that's the problem… I _know_ it's a bad idea. I just… my feelings don't agree with my brain", he said helplessly. "I hear what you say and I agree with all of it, and still I… it doesn't stop. This feeling, it doesn't go away. I've never felt anything like this – it's like something inside me is pulling me towa-"

"Shiro-kun." Agari's voice? When Ryuuji was around? What could she possibly want to-

Shiro had just turned around when time stopped. Well, something stopped. His control over his facial muscles, for one thing.

" _What in all the blazes…_ "

"Shiro-san…?" Ryuuji's voice drifted to his ears from a distance – whether a real distance or the one that yawned in Shiro's empty head.

"…are you doing?"

"You're mumbling", Agari enlightened. Straight-backed. Straight-faced. She could have been a mannequin, really. "I found this stray in the area and I was wondering if you know whose it is. If you don't I won't take up your time", she added curtly.

Shiro tore his eyes from the little white dog resting in Agari's arms with an air of saintly innocence.

"Sorry – you were saying…?"

"This dog. Do you know whose it is? And why are you smiling?"

"What? No, just… just… spasms… I get them from time to time, it'll pass." The corners of his mouth kept twitching and quirking even when he bit his cheeks.

"Are you sure? You're starting to go… burgundy."

"Am I?" The dog had started licking Agari's hand. Shiro tried to breathe as little as possible. Unbelievable. Absolutely, hilariously unbelievable…!

"Yes. And you sound like something is blocking your windpipe. Shouldn't you- Oh, you little rascal, stop it!" She smiled and ruffled the fur of the dog that had now wiggled out of her grasp and, planting its front paws on her voluptuous chest, started to lick her chin.

Shiro could feel his cerebral blood vessels pop, one by one like Chinese firecrackers, as he imagined the dog returning to its original form. Oh yes. Right now, in this glorious moment, consecrating it to the hall of fame in human history, way above the discovery of fire and the invention of the wheel…

"Isn't he cute? …are you going to cry?"

Shiro shook his head vigorously, well aware his face was coming apart. Cute. _Cute_.

"I take it you don't know where he lives, then. I shall keep looking."

"…okay", he squeaked, fighting his twitching lips.

"And you should go to the infirmary. Check you blood-pressure and a few other… things", she said over her shoulder.

"Shiro-san…?" Ryuuji had had enough sense to keep his distance from Agari, and approached him with a look of worry on his affable features.

"Come."

"Shiro-san? Your voice sounds awfully strange, and your face is-"

Nothing that made sense could come out of his mouth at this point, wherefore he grabbed Ryuuji's hand and skulked after Agari. Keeping tight to corners, urns, banisters and other handy things, he explained as best as he could. Which wasn't very good.

"Just watch the dog", he whispered through a throat thick with constrained laughter.

* * *

Agari tried several groups of students in the hope that somebody would point her in the right direction.

"Hello. You don't happen to recognise this dog, do you?"

"No, I'm sorry. Doesn't he have a collar?"

"No, I checked."

"Is he a stray? He looks too well cared-for to be a stray…"

"I know – and he's very friendly with people, so I don't think he's a stray."

"Aww, he's so fluffy and soft!"

"Isn't he? He really seems to like you."

" _Go figure – she must have E-cup at least_ ", Shiro thought, peeking from behind a banister, one hand clamped tightly over his mouth. " _Mephisto, you bastard…!_ "

* * *

When no students recognised the dog, Agari asked an Academy janitor.

"Oh, that one? Yeah, I see him trotting about at times. Always afraid I'm gonna run him over with the mower. He usually has a… a ribbon of some sort. So somebody owns him. Just doesn't look after him very well."

"Such a shame. I can't understand how anyone could let a little cuddle-bun like him out of sight…"

"Yeah, well, he probably belongs to someone in the Academy, or in the blocks closest by. Sorry, can't help you any more than that, miss."

"It's fine. Thank you."

A short distance away, behind a powerhouse, Shiro was writhing on the ground in severe abdominal agony.

"Shiro-san, are you alright…?"

"Cuddle-bun…!" he choked, tears streaming down his face.

* * *

Agari even asked at the teachers' facility that corresponded to student dorms.

"Do you know if he belongs to one of the teachers?"

"I don't think so. We do allow pets, but I only know of a couple of cats in the building. He's a sweet fellow though. Not much larger than a cat either, so if you have him neutered and get him a collar you could probably keep him here. Oh! Oh my-"

"I'm sorry! I don't know why he did that, he's very friendly, really. Maybe you smell of cat?"

"Shiro-san? Shiro-san? You're not suffering an asthma-attack, are you?"

Shiro shook his head, ribcage aching, wheezing out bouts of laughter in his hand behind a parked car.

* * *

"Oh, it's too much, oh god, I can't take another one…" he wiped tears from his eyes as they followed Agari at a distance. Had to hand it to Mephisto, he _was_ good at playing tricks on people: a troublemaker like Shiro could appreciate another practitioner of the noble art. " _Hell, I would've done the same if I could shape-shift…_ " Moreover, this confirmed that his dirty shenanigans against Shiro were just that: shenanigans. With that smug look on his canine face, Mephisto was _definitely_ into women.

"Shiro-san, I really don't understand. What's the thing about the dog?"

Well, at least Ryuuji wasn't the distracted zombie he had been the past days. Even if the expression on his face was confusion, it was better than no expression at all.

"That dog is the most awesome thing you have seen in your life", Shiro stated, peeking from behind the sign that announced the name of one of True Cross' many parks. "It will all be very clear when this is over."

"How much longer? We've already spent lunch break on this. Classes are due soon, and I still haven't gotten my books…"

"Believe me, this is worth skipping your granny's funeral for. Well, I suppose priorities can differ, but you definitely won't regret this…"

Agari had given up the hunt for the owner and sat in the grass by an artificial pond. The waning day threw glimmering reflections at the koi and multi-coloured ducks that swam back and forth in the pointless manner specific to fish and birds. She kept the dog in her lap, scratching its chin and ears absentmindedly. Shiro and Ryuuji succeeded, with some effort and a pathetic improvised camouflage of elephant grass, to take cover in a gazebo close enough to both hear and see.

"So I couldn't find your home", she stated, gazing at the water and beyond. "Too bad, hm? You're probably better at finding it yourself anyway. You're a dog." She looked down, raising an eyebrow at the eyelids that drooped as it leaned into her scratching. "I'm talking to a dog. Tch… Someone is probably worried about you right now, you know? Someone is looking for you and want you back home. So why aren't you there, hm?" She ruffled the hair on the dog's head. "Now you look like Shiro-kun. That idiot. I hope he went to the infirmary, he looked like he was about to have a seizure…" She chuckled, lifted the dog under his front legs and held him up level with her face. "Guys get so awkward around cute things, you know? Yeah? Are you that cute?" From the gazebo, Shiro could se a stumpy tail wagging happily. "Are you adorable? Yes you are~" She nuzzled her nose against the dog's.

Shiro hyperventilated into one fist and beat the other against his leg.

" _Come on, Mephisto, turn back now! Turn back now and I'll love you forever!_ "

Agari lay down in the grass, gently setting the dog down next to her. It plopped down and turned over.

"Oh god, the images…" Shiro felt one eyebrow go up, the other down, mouth quirking uncontrollably in all directions, as his mind's eye processed Agari scratching the dog's fuzzy belly. "I'm ruined… my mental chastity… I can never look him in the eye…"

"Shiro-san. What. Is. Going. _On_?"

"You might want something to bite into, you know; I really don't want them to hear you scream. Oh…" A dog has much more acute hearing than a human, and demons equally so. "On second thought, we're probably already busted. Well, he doesn't seem to mind that we've been following, so…" He shrugged.

Ryuuji stared at him in utter bewilderment.

"Please, just tell me what's going on. Who's 'he'?"

"That dog?" Shiro did his best to keep his face straight. "That's Sir Pheles."

Ryuuji stared at the little dog. He didn't say a word. Shiro didn't know if that was a good or bad reaction to having your ideals go belly-up before you. Or your love-interest cuddling with them.

"…that's Sir Pheles…?"

"He can turn into a dog."

"…he licked her face…"

"Not to mention how smug he looked when he was snuggled up against her boobs."

A shy, incredulous smile spread slowly over Ryuuji's lips.

"He's a full-blooded demon. Agari-chan hates his guts."

"Yeah, well, he seems to like Agari-chan. He's a real cuddle-bun."

Shiro and Ryuuji muffled laughter in their hands, twitching like stranded shrimps from stomach cramps on the gazebo floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** This was pure brain goop that formed somewhere in the back of my head while I was preparing for my maths exam. It seemed like something Mephisto would do. Then chapter 43 of Ao no Exorcist was published a few months later and I just couldn't believe how right I had been. 0_0


	43. Blind and walking into doors

Shiro liked to think that he was on good terms with Kohu-sensei. She was in all likelihood the most knowledgeable teacher in the staff: by far the oldest, at least. She had retired from field service years ago but carried on as teacher in Demonology, and would continue to do so until somebody forcibly removed her cold, dead remains from the teacher's desk; and that, judging by her energy, would be a while. Kohu-sensei was that kind of lady that lived to be a hundred and still tended her own house. And she _seemed_ to like him. She liked students with an enthusiasm for her subject, which Shiro demonstrated quite often in class. There were many obscure anecdotes and hypotheses in the old course literature from before Mephisto's compilation, and Shiro's brain seemed to soak them up like a sponge. ****  
  
"There's something I've been meaning to ask about", Shiro said upon re-entering the classroom after going out into the corridor to blow his nose. "There's 71 named Lords of Gehenna, but only the seven Princes are given a separate chapter in the course book. I know they're powerful", he said with an off-handed gesture. "But why set them apart like that when there's not enough info on them to fill even five pages?"

Actually, it was less than three pages. Each Prince came with a very superficial description of element and abilities, approximately what they were reported to look like, and a recommendation to avoid battle by all means.

"I'm still waiting for that paper on identification of earth spirits, Fujimoto-kun", said Kohu-sensei with a kind smile that was heartfelt, but a tone that said she meant business.

"It's under progress, sensei." Being progressively buried under the other half-finished homework… "I started to wonder when I went back to check on the King of Earth for the paper. There's less info on him than on a green-man: why not just put him among the earth demons, since he is one and doesn't have enough to cover an article of his own?"

"Well, there is of course the motivation that he is far more powerful than other earth demons; like a tiger among house cats, you could say. We stress that difference by setting him and the other kings apart from the rest of demonkin. From a systematic point of view, though, I have to agree that there is little sense in separating a demon of earth from other demons of earth." Kohu-sensei leaned back in her chair behind the desk. It creaked - in a welcoming way, as if it recognised the shape of her aged body well and greeted her like an old friend. "It's a practice that dates back to ancient times. The first attempt at a standardised demon systematic was made by Semitic scholars some three thousand years ago. They misunderstood a great many things about the hierarchy of demons, but despite that their classification of the kings as a separate class has stood the test of time through numerous reorganisations. The original class was called the Baal: a term that has become obsolete today. It means _the Masters_." Kohu-sensei smiled that particular smile that made Shiro forget she was over sixty years old. It was a smile full of vitality and enthusiasm.

Her smile reminded Shiro of what he had felt that time when he had flipped through the pages of the Lemegeton and found the Secret Seal of Solomon; that rising elation, that excitement over catching a fleeting glance of mysteries beyond this world. As he made that connection, Shiro felt like he also made a connection with his teacher. Yeah. With that kind of fuel to power herself Kohu-sensei would remain on her feet and teaching for many years to come.

"And a master is one who is in control", she continued, unaware of his musings. "Seven masters of seven elements that make up the world around us; and they could, technically, control our world through their powers." Kohu-sensei made a pause as if suddenly recalling something, then covered her mouth to chuckle at herself. "It's the kind of feeling you get from standing on a perch and looking down at a steep fall, was what I was thinking. Does that make sense to you, Fujimoto-kun? All that power - you feel so small, knowing how easily it could crush you; and in that same moment you feel a rush of power through your own body, from some unknown source within."

"I know exactly what you mean, Kohu-sensei", he admitted with a smile. It was exactly like that: like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down. That was a feeling he knew and chased, be that in the form of picking locks or taunting demons. Challenging the power that could crush him... challenging that power to feel that exhilarating rush from within... Yeah.

"I always thought it was such a beautiful irony", Kohu-sensei continued. "That it's our weakness that is our best protection against the Baal. With their powers they could easily control Assiah, but our bodies are too weak to allow them to use those powers at full force. It's no wonder that they were worshipped as gods, when you think about it... I have a theory, Fujimoto-kun", she confided with a gleam in her old eyes that made an unexpected feeling of pride blossom in Shiro's chest. She was choosing him to share this theory with. Him. Maybe she, too, had felt that connection...? "All that power; power we can barely even imagine, power that tears a human body apart in seconds: it must wear greatly on the Baal too, must it not? But they can withstand it. What allows them to do that?" The answer danced in her eyes, danced on her lips, and waited to see if he could guess it. "The reason the old scholars made the Baal their own class of demons, despite their different elements, is that they share one trait that sets them apart from other demons; and I believe that trait is the very fundament that makes it possible for them to wield those immense powers. The Baal are immortal."

"Immortal?" Shiro had to rearrange his thoughts to accommodate that one. "Literally immortal, not just so ridiculously powerful they can't be defeated?"

Kohu-sensei folded her hands on her desk and looked pleased to have brought him off balance.

"Literally immortal", she confirmed. "You may have noticed there are no fatal verses listed for them in your course books?"

"But there are. In the older books, at least, there are fatal verses even for the Kings."

Bot Kohu-sensei just shook her head.

"Exorcists use 'fatal verses' so sloppily these days. There are verses that will expel them back to Gehenna - yes. But there are no verses that are _fatal_ to them, in the literal meaning of the word. You can kill regular demons if you have the right verse and the right strength of spirit, but not the Baal. Really, it's not surprising that some ancient cultures considered them gods." She quirked an eyebrow and shot him a knowing glance. "You would know that, of course, now that your paper is about earth demons. You must have come across the blood sacrifices that were common in the past, when people asked the gods for good harvest. That was the best way to sway the Earth King, who is known to have a love for carnage."

* * *

Immortal. No wonder he was so smug.

" _Must be pretty damn sweet, to be able to shape-shift and never die, and snap your fingers and poof anything you want…_ " It wasn't difficult to see why humans in ancient times had perceived the Princes as gods.

Shiro plodded down the stairs of the Academy building slowly, wincing every so often when he didn't mind his movements. Their class had been given a simple mission of exorcising a hobgoblin nest, but he'd been tired and unfocused and gotten himself a claw in the side. It wouldn't have been so bad, if he'd gotten treatment instantly. He had plain refused to let Kita patch him up, though. Mixing up potion and poison would reflect badly on his grades, but Shiro didn't put it past the little rat to do something like that. He had kept on fighting until the mission was completed,  
and then let Ryuuji handle the task.

Matsuri-sensei had chewed his ass for that. No solo-ing on missions; teammates were there for support, and neglecting his own condition would hamper and possibly endanger said teammates. Et cetera. He'd nodded and hummed without really listening.

" _Shouldn't matter how_ _the job's done as long as it gets done. It's not like I lost an arm or something…_ "

All these rules and regulations and protocols. Protocol: one of Saburota's favourite words. Sweet lord, he'd had his ears stuffed with _protocol_ since he came back from talking to Agari. And the fuss made over that little scratch he'd gotten on the mission – you'd think he'd been cut in half! _Irresponsible_ and _reckless_ , and various synonyms of the two. Honestly, wasn't there a single person in the whole complex who could adopt a pragmatic view on things…?

Midori could. The night market was opening again, and he'd been meaning to ask her out there for some time. Diverting from the well-trodden path back to his dorm, he set course for the girls' dorm. By the damn poplars.

Lady Chance was on his side, it seemed: Midori's braided ribbon had slid off and laid just a few steps outside her door.

" _Not like bringing her chocolate or anything, but plus points for sure_ ", he smiled as he bent, very carefully, and picked up the ribbon. " _I should make a move and bring her chocolate someday…_ "

"Hey, Mido-"

Knocking before you enter may have become an empty gesture, but it does serve a purpose. Sure, Shiro had seen Midori naked before. He just hadn't… seen her naked between Sen's legs…

He slammed door and eyes shut and dropped his tomato-red forehead against the wooden surface.

" _I… am the greatest idiot alive…_ "

"Shiro-kun…?"

Oh crap no! Shiro let go of the handle as if burnt and hobbled down the corridor as fast as he could. He didn't know what he was thinking, but he knew could _not_ look her in the face right now. Not with that massive hard-on.

Footsteps down the corridor? Well, _Midori_ wouldn't think twice about trotting after him naked… and her creamy skin mingled so painfully well with Sen's soft curves…

" _Not now!_ " he hissed at his brain, which seemed hell-bent on making that picture permanent on his retina. He shouldered his way into the bathroom at the turn of the corridor and dove into a vacant cubicle. Hour-long seconds ticked by, and no footfalls followed.

Alright, step one: get rid of hard-on. Step two: wrap his head around Sen and Midori. Easy enough, when the two combined most suitably…

" _That's what they were all getting at… tch, my glasses really didn't do me any good…_ " he sighed, zipping his trousers back up.

Shiro was experiencing unusual inner turmoil. Part of his mind blew testosterone steam through the nose and announced with gleaming eyes that one hot girl was awesome, but two hot girls together had to be god's gift to man; a different and quite large part of his mind pulled a blanket over itself and wished it could erase the past months of idiocy and public ridicule from the flow of time.

The best way to draw attention from inner turmoil is to consider the more practical issues of outer turmoil. He was in the girls' bathroom. If he were found there, repercussions would be quite unpleasant. He'd even heard one could get relegated for that. Now, to make it out without getting caught… He ducked low, hearing footsteps approach. Good move: seconds later, the door creaked.

Shit, had he locked his cubicle…? But the steps didn't head for the cubicles: taps were turned, and water started pouring. Not that Shiro had any deeper knowledge of women's hygiene habits, but washing your hands _before_ you went to the bathroom seemed a little…

"Had any luck?" a voice – a _male_ voice? – murmured, almost inaudible over the running water.

"No. We're working on it, but something like that isn't easy to pull off. As I see it, we'll have to wait for an opportunity to present itself and take it without hesitation. We can't afford to rush this", female voice mumbled. Shiro strained his ears, blocking out input from all other senses. "It would be pathetic to stumble on the finishing line…"

"We're far from the finishing line, you know that. But we're ready. An opportunity will present itself, I'm sure; and when it does, we'll be quick."

"We should have finished already. The more time we give him, the likelier he is to find us out."

"On the contrary; if he hasn't found us yet, I don't think he will. If it was within his power, he would've caught us long ago."

"He might be playing along, waiting for us to make a mistake", the female voice said sombrely. "Haven't you thought about that? It could all be a gigantic trap."

"Even if it is, we-" The door to the corridor creaked again. The taps switched off. "The exam will be fine. We can celebrate with crêpes down at Sato Akuma afterwards."

Shuffling feet, the door clicked shut. Lone footsteps padded the clinker floor, indecisive about which cubicle to take. No ruckus about a guy in the girls' bathroom…? Tch, if he didn't lock his cubicle, there'd be one hell of a ruckus about a guy in the girls' bathroom very soon… Shiro discreetly slid the peg shut, keeping it from clicking against as it reached end point. As soon as he heard a door close down the rows, he threw his open and sped out into the corridor. Not a soul in sight. Dammit…


	44. Idle banter

* * *

It was past office hours, so Shiro walked all the way up to Mephisto's mansion at the summit of the Academy. He'd never seen it from the outside, but it was everything one would expect from a house belonging to Mephisto. There were cupolas and towers and panoramic windows all around the place, and... Crosses? Shiro squinted through the dusk. No, there were actually crosses on top of the mansion's three main cupolas.

" _Who're you calling blasphemer, hah?"_  He lowered his eyes back to the spacious courtyard, where an ornate fountain hummed contentedly to itself. " _Where does he get all that money from...?_ "

When Shiro rang the doorbell, a butler opened, and he temporarily forgot his errand. He had never seen a real butler, let alone a demon butler. But there was no mistaking those ears. The butler's hair was meticulously combed and glossed, as were his English style moustache and his tiny, pointed goatee. Shiro may have felt a tiny urge to pinch his face to see if he was real or if he was a wax statue.

"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?" he said in a voice as starched as his collar.

"I need to speak with Pheles."

"What be your errand with master Pheles?" he inquired, as if saying that referring to Mephisto simply by surname wasn't good enough.

"I have information his highness would like to hear", he said, mimicking the stiffness with only the slightest hint of mockery – and the suggestion that he was not just some school boy there to ask for a postponed essay deadline.

"I shall take you to his highness: please, this way, sir", the demon said, bowing, with a spark of intense curiosity in his narrow reptile eyes.

It was beyond confusing. It was… insane. Shiro had been in that mansion. He had spent almost two days cooped up there, gone through every nook and corner there was, and the library did  _not_ connect to the utility room. The library should connect to the arcade room, which was nowhere to be seen; and what the hell was the kitchen doing in the parlour…?

As he followed the butler through rooms he'd never seen – striped hallways, frilly ballrooms, gargantuan dining halls with chandeliers and hearths – he realised two things. One: when he had been here, Mephisto must have bent space and connected doors so that he had only had access to a few select rooms. Two: the butler was as lost as he was.

"Uh, sir…?"

"You may call me Belial."

"Right. Belial-san, where  _is_ Phe- his highness?"

"In his highness' bedchamber", came the schooled response. And, with a crisp touch of sophisticated annoyance, he added: "It would appear his highness has seen fit to rearrange."

So he was right. The rooms moved, and Belial had no idea how to find Mephisto's bedroom.

" _Like a life-size dollhouse…_ " He bit his lip around a smile and made a mental note to check if Mephisto had a dollhouse stashed away somewhere. "He does that a lot?"

"Occasionally."

"Isn't that inconvenient?"

"It is convenient for his highness."

It was a masterpiece, really. That perfectly pitched tone that was impeccably polite and at the same time dripping with unspoken opinions. Damn shame he would never be able to copy that… It would have been fun to take Belial out for a few drinks and hear his more heartfelt words about his master's rearrangements. Just imagine trying to find the bathroom when you were in a hurry…

"Any chance there could be a shortcut? To some room he'd like to access conveniently?" Shiro asked as they closed yet another door that led to the kitchen.

"Trust me, young man, we have tried all the shortcuts. His highness must be-" Belial stopped and turned his narrow gaze to Shiro. "Are you, perchance, carrying any charms or wards on your person?"

"Oh. I completely forgot…" He quickly got the star pendant over his head. "Any place I can put this?"

"Leave it on the chiffonier, please."

Shiro had no idea what a chiffonier was, but tried the most obvious piece of furniture: a low, wooden cupboard that was too large and extravagantly carved to be called something as plain as cupboard.

From there, it took less than half a minute to locate Mephisto's bedroom.

"A visitor, your highness." Belial bowed as he opened the door.

Mephisto looked up from his nest of cushions and obese plushies on the floor in front of the tv-screen. Shiro smiled inwardly: watching Grendizer again, hah? He would never get what was so fascinating about robots.

"Show him in."

"Yes, master." There was a pause, crisp and exact like the space between two clicks of keypresses in a typewriter. "The maids were looking for the room for bed linen. They kindly ask your highness to put it in junction with the utility room."

Mephisto didn't reply, merely snapped his clawed fingers.

"Thank you, master. Anything your highness would like…?"

"More of the fruit jellies and the pralines. And that white nougat from Marseille."

Belial picked up the silver tray with empty plates and bowls, bowed, and exited. Shiro was left to ponder whether or not that  _Honey-bee Maya_ yukata was even more ridiculous than his principal uniform, and whether or not 'practise makes perfect' could be applied to the dozen sketches of Grendizer that lay scattered around Mephisto.

"Good evening, Cuddlebun", he grinned as he sauntered through the peculiar bedroom. Oh well, all things are relative; it wouldn't be peculiar for a six-year-old. "Nice job with Agari-chan. Very gentlemanly."

"Why, it's not a gentleman's decorum to rudely refuse a young lady's heartfelt affection~" he hummed playfully, looking exceptionally smug as he added another carefully calculated line to his Grendizer drawing. "I think we made quite the connection, she and I~"

"You're a truly shameless bastard", Shiro chuckled, manoeuvring past the assorted manga volumes.

"Mind your mouth, young man. Didn't you hear your lovely classmate?" He bit into a sugar-coated Belgian waffle, showcasing his fangs in a bright grin that made his eyes shrink to merry arcs. "I'm adorable~"

Shiro fought hard not to double over and re-open his injury. That face, and that yukata, and the crayon drawings, and… and…

"Sure, you're adorable", he chuckled, seating himself with great caution next to the pile of cushions. "And I'm an idiot. Or will be; I think I suffered mild brain haemorrhage when I saw her with you. Of all the people that could pick you up, it just had to be her."

The withheld laughter had clogged his nose up with more snot, and barely had he reached into his pocket for tissue before the wastebasket came bouncing.

"Disgusting…" Mephisto frowned, leaning away as Shiro blew his nose.

" _Somebody_ left me to marinate in cold water before sending me to walk back without shoes. Reap what you sow, and so on."

The panda rubbed up against his leg and worked its hinged jaws expectantly. As weird as that was, it was better than Mephisto's other pet. Shiro wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard the table lamp over by the bed hiss at him. It had the same patchwork pattern as the bat's wings, and unless the sullen creature had relatives it must be the same one.

" _I don't know if it's a cat, or more like a dog…_ "

Whatever the wastebasket was, it was ready to work for its treats. Shiro held the tissue in the air, making the familiar do jumps.

"You've found a kindred spirit, I see. It can make pirouettes if you wave around some", Mephisto enlightened, testing different angles on Grendizer's foot. Or hand?

Shiro tried moving the tissue in circles, and the panda bounced and twisted like a spin top. In a less tired-and-over-worked state he might not have found this so amusing, but right now he could do this for hours.

"Does it know any more tricks?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's a slow study, and quite thick", the demon replied with a teasing smile.

"Kindred spirit, huh?" Shiro noted dryly and let the panda have the trash. "Anyway, I came here 'cause I overheard something I can't make sense of, but maybe you can."

"I'm all ears." He snapped his fingers, and Shiro was swallowed into a beanbag shaped like Doraemon's head.

"Well, it was two girls talking, basically." He struggled to sit upright without adding to the burning sensation of strained stitches. "They were waiting for something – an opportunity of some kind. They were nervous 'cause some guy might or might not catch them, and they were worried that he would catch them if they didn't finish soon. One suggested that if it had been within his power to track them down, he would have caught them already. Same person said that pulling off something like that – whatever 'that' is – wouldn't be easy." He was momentarily distracted as Hikaru woke up from her sickbed on the screen, and clasped Daisuke's hands. "The other worried that 'he' was playing along, and that they would be lured into a trap. Does any of this make sense to you…?"

Mephisto twirled the crayon idly between his claws, eyes lost beyond the bright tv-screen. Weird expression. Shiro couldn't place it, and then it struck him why: Mephisto was being serious. Wasn't used to seeing that.

"Maybe…" he murmured, stroking a strand of his long bangs as one might stroke a beard. "If they are… they are most definitely in over their heads…"

"So there  _is_ a trap? What does it- Ouch! Son of a-!" He hadn't paid attention to the panda, and it snagged his fingertips along with the tissue he was holding. "Your familiar could use some domestication. …yeah, yeah, I know: kindred spirits."

"You said it, not I~ It's not a trap that awaits our potential saboteurs, more of a… surprise~" he grinned, treating himself to another bonbon. Shiro had no idea when Belial had left the silver tray stacked with chocolates and treats; the demon had appeared and disappeared in the soundless, invisible manner known only to ninjas and British butlers. "It would be better to catch them before they spring it, however. You couldn't identify either of the speakers?"

"I was in the girls' bathroom, it's not like I could stick my head out and take a peek."

"The girls' bathroom…?" Mephisto gave him a sideways glance full of suggestions. "My my, you really had  _me_ fooled, Shiro-chan~"

"Oh stuff it;  _I'm_ not the one who wears high heels."

"Two centuries ago, you might have", he replied in easy tones. "It was standard for men of noble birth to wear heels in Europe then."

"Really? Why?"

"To increase height, of course."

"Pff, as if you needed to be any taller!"

Seriously, that bathrobe had formed a train behind Shiro when he wore it. Oh, that's right: he should've brought it along and returned it…

"It also accentuates the shape of one's legs nicely", the demon added after a moment's thought.

And that was when Shiro exploded: his lungs with laughter, and his head with the most ridiculous images of Mephisto posing before his wardrobe mirror. Wow… really… did he actually say that…?

"Accentuates one's legs!" Oh god, his side hurt, but he couldn't stop laughing. What a quirk, what a splendid, goofy… "You sure you're not Princess Mephistopheles?"

"Prince it is", the demon smirked playfully. "With the nicest legs in Gehenna~"

And that was when Shiro, idiomatically and literally, split his side.

"Ahahaha, hah, oh I can't breathe…! Ahahahahaah haaah haah ah ow ow ow I'm gonna have to ask Ryuuji-san to redo those stitches…!"

"Do  _not_ bleed on my custom Doraemon bean bag!" Mephisto stabbed a crayon in his direction with the look of a mother protecting her young.

"Don't worry, Princess, a little tear won't soak through the bandage", he chuckled, feeling his side gingerly. "It'll be fine."

"It had better be", he said in warning tones. "Moreover, would you kindly enlighten me why you were in the girls' bathroom in the first place? There may or may not be disciplinary action entailing that."

The odds of getting hit by a meteorite are about 1 in 700 000. Shiro wouldn't have minded to be that one person there and then, but Lady Chance didn't seem inclined to grant him that favour. Mephisto would be insufferable…

Eventually, he resigned to a cruel fate and forced his mouth open:

"I hid… after I walked in on Midori-chan and Sen-chan…"

Mephisto was the only one who could laugh harder than Shizuku. Every pointy tooth in his mouth on display, he laughed so hard his thin body ought to snap in half from the force. But no, Lady Chance wouldn't take Shiro's side in that either.

"Ihihihahahahahaa! Ahahaaaahahahaha~! Oh, too bad, too bad… Fuhuheheeee~ I was hoping to have a first-row seat to see your face…" He grinned like a kid at Christmas. "But the consolation prize isn't bad, either~"

"Glad to be of service", he grumbled. "How did  _you_ know?"

"Demons are pleasure-seekers by nature", he replied, looking pleased indeed. "Pleasure is pleasure, no matter from what or whom it is derived; we don't discriminate~ Sakura-chan is only half, but I believe it was plain as day which side of the family she takes after." He selected a lemon-shaped sweet and popped it into his mouth with a suggestive grin. "Mm-m, that face isn't bad, either~"

His face must be either white or red, Shiro wasn't quite sure. So Mephisto plain didn't care whether he flirted with men or with women…? Made sense. Made sense, but didn't make it any less disturbing.

"Decadent creep…" he muttered under his breath. And he'd thought he was safe after seeing him with Agari-chan… Well, speaking of which: "Ryuuji-san lost his head over Agari-chan, couldn't think about anything else. That got something to do with his demon heritage?"

"Humans would always claim virtue as theirs and blame vice on the weeds demons sow in their hearts~" Mephisto was in a good mood: that odd, lilting quality to his voice got more prominent when he was. "That isn't true, of course. Demons don't monopolise licentiousness: we perfect it. What grows in the human heart is planted by humans, and the only contribution from our side is to make it thrive. Indeed, the  _true_ virtue of mankind is restraint – or denial, whichever you would prefer. Half-demons can turn out anywhere on the scale: human, demonic, or in between." He skewered a fudge praline on a toothpick and ate, long claws striking a peculiar contrast with the refinement contained in the gesture. "A demon with a human heart is a curious thing indeed, harnessing the power of a destroyer with the will of a creator. Now, a human with a demon's heart…" He twirled the toothpick between his fingers with an idle smile as he watched Commander Blaki overtake professor Umon's science lab. "May appear harmless, but hides a sleeping beast within~"

"And if we make that the short version, what does this mean for Ryuuji-san?"

"It means he is a stranger to his own nature." Mephisto skewered another praline. How much of that could he eat, really? Shiro felt he was developing diabetes merely by watching. "And will succumb to it once the restraint of his human side is not enough."

"Succumb, as in…?" Shiro pushed.

"Succumb~" He swallowed the treat whole, "as in surrender, voluntarily or involuntarily, to the far stronger instincts of the demon he deep down is: 'snap', if colloquial tongue is better suited to your ears."

"And what happens to Agari-chan if he does?"

Not that he particularly cared, but if Ryuuji learnt he might harm her, maybe he would finally give up?

"If he likes the girl, she will survive~" He tossed the toothpick to the overjoyed wastebasket, still smiling. Not particularly concerned either, from the looks of it… "Undoubtedly with an even more reinforced antipathy for demons."

"Good enough for me." Shiro leaned back, tracing the stucco pillars up to the domed ceiling with his eyes. His bedroom was in a tower…? "So if instincts are that strong, what's it like to a full-blooded demon?" He had to ask, if only to set his mind a little more at peace… "You can restrain yourself?"

"Wouldn't be sitting here if I couldn't~" he smiled amiably, adjusting a cushion to rest more comfortably in his little nest.

Sitting here; in his billion-yen mansion, with every special edition-toy money could buy, a custom limo and a private spy plane, his own amusement park, more sweets than a human ate in a lifetime, three-or-more gilded statues of himself… Shiro laughed under his breath. Mephisto Pheles: the epitome of restraint.

" _Huh… he's even got claws for toe-nails…_ " Shiro's mind was in the state where its attention drifted to whatever his eyes landed on, and in that moment Mephisto's adjusting of the cushions let a skeletal foot into vision from the folds of the yukata. Suddenly, his flashy boots made sense.

* * *

"Oh, how I love the imagination of the human mind!" Mephisto's eyes reflected the screen like two brightly gleaming stars, watching with a huge grin as Daisuke thrashed the spaceships of the invading Vegans with his anti-gravity beam and saw-toothed projectile fists. "That such simple creatures can give rise to such complex inventions! That your boldness and arrogance has reached such dimensions that you create artificial life, a man-made evolution of inorganic beings, and in doing so lay shameless claim to godhood!"

Shiro shook his head with an incredulous smile. Adorable? Maybe, in a weird way… Funny? Oh yes.

"It's just fiction, you know. It isn't real."

"So they said about Jules Verne's work, too", the demon said, dismissing the statement with a huff.

"Who?"

" _Who?_  You need to read more, young man. Educate your mind so that you may think beyond it~! So the inventors and discoverers of old came to understand the world around them, and tether it to their purposes like a working mule!"

" _Could it be that he's had too much sugar…?_ " It was hard to tell, really. Shiro had come to expect anything and everything of Mephisto in terms of sudden mood shifts. "You can do my homework if you enjoy it so much."

It was waiting for him back at the dorm, like a big, ugly cockroach under a sink. Or maybe that was Saburota…? He would be back from guard duty in Deep Keep by now. Cold and stiff and silently disapproving… Mephisto was aware of the situation now, and would take care of it one way or the other. He should go back and get to work… soon.

" _I'm gonna fall asleep if I don't do something._ "

Shiro raked some of the manga books closer. He had his hand on  _Glass Mask_  when his eyes caught Osamu Tezuka on another cover. Even if he'd only read _Ribon no Kishi_ , he knew that name spelt 'quality'. Odd look to it for a Tezuka, though…  _MW_? Rather anonymous title… Shiro picked it up and leafed through the pages. Kidnapping drama? Weird nightmares…? Seemed like a good plo-

The sudden noise when he slammed the book shut caused Mephisto's ears to twitch irritably. The demon looked questioningly at him. And then the green eyes fell on the book.

"Good choice: it's a most captivating story."

"'Captivating' my ass", he grumbled, feeling heat build in his cheeks. "Any chance you could conveniently snap your fingers and make me forget I ever saw that…?"

"I could~" His smirk grew into a full grin of impishness. "Then I could enjoy your face all over again, when you don't remember you've opened that book already."

"Tch, I guess I'll live…" He put the book to the side and reached for ano- No, on second thought: "Are there any other things in here that I don't want to read?"

"What a bothersome guest I've gotten…" Mephisto snapped his fingers, and a handful of books stacked themselves neatly out of the way.

"That many?" Shiro blurt before he could check himself. Seriously, that was… all that was dirty books about men…? "Don't worry about guests; all you need to do to make them leave is show your bookshelf."

"Words of an uncivilized monkey. The great works are great because they shine light on the shadows of human nature: those who can't appreciate them are usually the ones who strive to hide their shadows in the darkness~"

"Don't give me that look."

"What look~?" he asked with a masterful display of pristine innocence.

The look that was already done undressing him and was pondering where to place the first love-bite:  _that_ look. Rather than say that, Shiro pulled out a new tissue and blew his nose demonstratively: he was a disgusting monkey, not some French nougat Mephisto could sink his fangs into. As icing on the cake, and to the panda's disappointment, he put the crumpled tissue back in his pocket for later re-use.

Shiro could, with ill-disguised glee, watch how the shiver travelled all the way from the demon's spine out into the tip of his curl, making the hairs in his neck rise.

"Disgusting…" Mephisto shuddered, making the Doraemon beanbag slide further away from him.

It is true that humans are pleasure-seekers as much as demons are, and when restraint fails there is little that will keep them from neglecting duties in favour of indulgence. Frankly, Shiro thought he'd given duties enough time already, and he could indulge in one idle evening of watching anime, reading manga, and exchanging rudities with his pervert principal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  **If you've ever read Goethe's _Faust_ ,** you might remember the encounter with the witch who doesn't recognise Mephistopheles. On the topic of culture and times changing, Mephisto admits that he did wear "fake calves", something that actually was quite popular among the aristocracy. They were used along with the snugly fitting stockings and heels, to even further accentuate the shape of the wearer's legs. Given Mephisto's clothing of choice, I suspect he does like to show off his legs… xD
> 
>  **Jules Verne** could be considered the father of science fiction. He was ahead of his time in terms of mechanics, and wrote "impossible" and fantastic machines that spurred actual inventors to strive towards realising them. For example, he wrote the electricity-powered submarine 1870, and 1954 people managed to construct a nuclear submarine that could match Verne's visions. (They named it _USS Nautilus_ after the his fictional submarine.) He described reverse osmosis-processes for turning seawater into drinking water that weren't implemented for actually making drinking water until 70 years later. He also made some quite decent calculations for how to launch a manned projectile to the moon as early as 1865.
> 
>  **MW** is a very short, very good manga. It was a novelty at that time to have such open yaoi scenes (and it's written by a guy, at that!), but what's even more funny in this context is that the main characters are a Catholic priest, who has an affair with a sociopathic criminal mastermind. The priest is tormented by the struggle between conscience and emotion, and at one point he actually does blurt out "You Mephistopheles!" to the (smug) criminal in question.


	45. A gamble

There are many ways to wake up, and hitting marble floor is one of the less recommended. Shiro cursed as he untangled himself from a fuzzy blanket he couldn't remember how he got himself into. Where the hell…? Mephisto's bedroom. He must have fallen asleep in the beanbag… And his glasses were missing.

Shiro patted around like a mole, searching the beanbag and the floor and the blanket, praying he hadn't crushed them in his sleep, until he remembered that his glasses _couldn't_ fall off. Then someone must have-

He found them, neatly folded, on the little table by the empty bed. How… considerate. Immediately after he'd put them on, he cursed under his breath. Considerate enough to get him a blanket and remove his glasses: not considerate enough to wake him for school. The face of the miniature cuckoo clock read 13.22. He could swear the table lamp next to it snickered hoarsely.

Shiro snatched his satchel from where he'd left it yesterday, fumbled the key into the lock and opened the door into cram school. He hurried through the empty corridors, back out into the parts of the building used for regular high school, getting quite a few stares as he hobbled along. Yeah, he must look like hell. Shirt flapping in all directions, tie loose, hair dishevelled; the archetype for a student who's overslept.

He got caught in a stream of freshmen pouring out from a classroom and had to wait for them to pass. Oh, crap… Among the faces glancing at him, there were two he recognised. Of course, two he didn't really want to meet – and they were already making their way over. Holding hands. Giggling.

If you're going to truly crush a guy, giggle at him.

"Look, about yesterday…" Shiro ran a hand through his hair, which must look like a bird's nest blown around in a tornado by now. "I… First of all, I'm sorry – really sorry – and second, I…" Come on, spit it out, idiot.

Meanwhile, both Sen and Midori were cracking up.

"Is okay, Shiro-kun…! Is my fault too, I should have… realised… mfufufufufuhahaha…!" Yeah, it must seem really funny. Shiro wished he too could snap his fingers and poof himself away. Preferably to Antarctica. "I like Shiro-kun, but not as mate."

"You left yesterday before we could explain", Sen fell in.

" _They actually expected me to stay and_ talk _…?_ "

He _did_ know that neither Midori nor Sen was… like ordinary people. Cultural differences, upbringing, heritage and all that, sure: but to say something like _that_ you had to be from another planet.

"Where _did_ you go last night?" Sen inquired when he remained silently wondering what to do. She covered an unusually animated smile with the hand not occupied with Midori's.

"Back to my dorm room, where else?"

This brought about even more giggles from the girls. What? His face was that red…?

"It must be someone special, for a bold guy like you to make up so poor lies", Sen said, looking him over with laughter in her usually empty eyes. "I will not believe a Todo did something like that."

Doubt knotted Shiro's bowels. What had Mephisto done…?

"Something like what?"

It was an agonising wait as Sen rummaged around in her satchel. He was late for lessons already – screw that. If Mephisto had been up to something while he was asleep, that took precedence over-

Sen clicked open a black, lens-shaped thing that turned out to be a pocket mirror and held it up for him.

" _You… stupid demon._ " Considerate? How had he ever gotten it into his head that Mephisto would take off his glasses because he was _considerate_? "I knew I shouldn't have said his Grendizer looked like a hamster…" He tried rubbing at the curly moustache the mirror showed him. "Permanent marker, too." He would so get back at him for this. "I would look great in a beard, though", he observed, turning his chin back and forth in the mirror.

"I like eyebrows better~" Midori said with a bright grin.

Shiro tilted his head forward, and smiled as his forehead came into view.

"Looks like konbu", he chuckled. "Floating on the waves…" He wiggled his enlarged eyebrows, making Midori and Sen laugh in unison. Now that he knew, he couldn't understand how he hadn't noticed before. The way they leaned on each other, the way they used yobisute for each other, the way they _were_ with each other. There was no way they were just friends.

"Oh, look, you have little star by your ear…" Midori leaned in for closer inspection, and halted with a confused look. "You smell like Pheles." She cocked her head and sniffed, a worry-line appearing between her eyebrows. "You slept with Pheles?"

Sen broke down in helpless giggles, narrowly drowning out the sound of Shiro's pride shattering against the floor.

"No I did NOT! And unless he miraculously grows boobs and a better personality, I never will!" At least a hundred different students glanced at him, saw his face, and concluded that they probably didn't want to know anyway.

"Oh, Shiro-kun…!" Sen was enjoying herself immensely, from the looks of it. "She means 'slept at Sir Pheles' place'! Midori, you- if you say it that way, it means they were intimate…!"

Midori's bewildered mien dissolved in pealing laughter, and he forgave her on the spot. The things he wouldn't do for a cute girl, even if she dated another girl.

"Forgive me, Shiro-kun!" she breathed, clutching her stomach. "What I mean and what words mean is not always the same. But, you did go to him, did you not? Even when you know he is dangerous." She shook her head with a look in between worry and incredulity. "Thinking doesn't go well in you."

"Well, I… I didn't know who else to ask about demons, and demon… habits." Sweet lord, when had he gotten flypaper on his tongue? "He told me it's a natural thing for you to… that you don't care whether it's men or women. So, I guess, if I'd known…"

"Were you sleeping in Demonology class, then? Kohu-sensei told us. Is why religion condense it: if a man likes men they think he is possessed by demon, or demon has seduced him."

"Condemns it", Sen helped. "Here, this should work. For your face." She handed him a small bottle that read 'nail-varnish remover'. "You can return it whenever you like – if you knock first", she said with a look that made him go a shade of pink Mephisto would surely have approved of.

"Thanks", he smiled, wondering how in the world he had ever dared approach these aliens. "So we're okay, then? Despite everything…"

"Oh yes~" Midori nodded.

"It's good to have it sorted out", Sen agreed.

* * *

Long day. It was good, in a way, that he'd overslept. He needed every minute of it: he had realised that around lunch when he ate both the nikuman and the paper wrapped around it.

Shiro had to make a quick stop at the dorm before Knight practice, seeing as he hadn't brought his training clothes along the day before the unplanned sleepover. Good thing, then he could get Mephisto's bathrobe, too.

Saburota wasn't in at this time of day: Futotsuki-sensei had taken two weeks off to go home and see his relatives, on account of the unrest between different factions of the clan, and Saburota had been asked to substitute.

He had brought the mail in, though. Three envelopes waited for Shiro on his desk, all stamped with the insignia of the ministry of education. Neither of them granted him a scholarship.

" _Shit…_ " He bit the tip of his tongue and sat down on the bed, holding the documents in his hands.

What now? Those were the last three of all applications he'd sent, and they had all been declined. No money for next semester, then. No money to continue the chase and keep his soul if the saboteurs weren't caught this spring, and it was April already. A month and a half… There was no telling how long they would have to wait for that opportunity, and time wasn't something Shiro had. He might have to start thinking seriously about burglary again. An intense stealing spree over summer holidays might do it… if only he could avoid getting caught…

He lit a smoke. Saburota would chew his ears off for smoking indoors, but right now he didn't give a crap. He needed to think.

Stealing was a bad idea, in all ways. At least one or two henchmen was imperative if you wanted to do breaks that would actually pay off, and you needed one more to scout and keep watch. He'd been off the streets for roughly three years now, he didn't have the connections – or the intel on territories and groups – to assemble a reliable team.

Selling organs? A bit desperate, wasn't it...? On the other hand, between his soul and a kidney, he'd rather lose a kidney. You only needed one of those, but that was about what he knew of that business. One kidney, a one-time income. How much would that bring in...? It made him queasy to think about it, for that matter… Shiro took the cigarette from his lips and blew out smoke slowly.

" _I wonder… if I could make him bet…_ "

There was no way Mephisto would pay his tuition voluntarily: but what to bet…? It was tempting to play it safe, to choose a challenge he knew he could win, but you can't bait mice with empty traps. Mephisto wouldn't accept a bet he had no chance of winning. Maybe arcade games…? Tch, no. Shiro hadn't had time to play a game for months, it would be like handing him the victory before betting. He hadn't had time to do anything but study and practise for the past-

" _It's stupid_ ", Reason told him. " _Got another option?_ " Shiro asked, glancing again at the idea his self-destructive mind had tossed him.

It _was_ stupid. He was ill, and he was injured, and he was nowhere near as skilled as Mephisto was. And maybe, simply because of that… if the demon underestimated him enough…

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

* * *

Shiro went the plan over in his head on his way up the stairs, trying every angle and possibility. It could work. Maybe. If there was a god, he wouldn't tip the scales in favour of a demon, right…? 'cause this would indeed require divine intervention.

"Goodness, what is that smell?" Mephisto's nose crinkled, and his curl curled itself tighter, as Shiro stepped into the underground base.

"Probably cigarette smoke mixed with acetone residue. Thanks for the eyebrows, they were a real hit with Midori-chan and Sen-chan", he smiled pleasantly.

"Find their relation intriguing, do you?" Mephisto cocked his head with a similar smile. "In me it's a perversion, and in her it's tantalizing?" He swung the katana playfully by his wrist. "Kukukuku, the human mind and its entertaining quirks~"

" _Human_ quirks?" Shiro's lips pulled into a crooked smile as he took the waiting katana and unsheathed it. "I'd say you're disqualified from even commenting on it." He began the warm-up with movements that were, to his dismay, slightly shaky. " _Come on, it's gonna be like any other sparring match. Don't think about it, it'll just get you nervous._ "

"Who is more qualified to voice observations on human nature than one who is apart from it? Who better knows the human heart and mind than one who can see through it like cobweb?" he declaimed with flourishing gestures, sounding like he enacted a scene in a play.

"And who is less suited than one whose sole aim is to corrupt it?" he returned, mimicking the lilting cadence with a cheeky smile. "Isn't a human best qualified to observe the nature of a demon, then?"

"A human, whose single-minded aim it is to exterminate demons?" Mephisto strode into his measured movements, easing them from warm-up to sparring.

"Touché", Shiro smiled. "Gotta say, though; demons get all the perks. Magic and regeneration and all that." He made a first serious move, striking sparks as it was blocked. "Speaking of which: Kohu-sensei says Princes are immortal."

"She had better, or her salary would be wasted money."

"Are you?"

"I haven't put it to the test." He ignored a feint and parried Shiro's blow. "Lethal combat is a messy business, from what I hear. But yes, I am immortal."

"So you don't know what would happen if I ran this through you?"

"You would ruin my hakama", he dodged Shiro's next attack, "my shirt", slipped past his guard, "and my mood", and finished with the edge of the blade resting snugly at his sternum. "But do feel free to try~" he smiled into his ear, suddenly standing behind him.

"No bet?" Shiro returned, twisting around with an equally predatory smile.

"The Vatican doesn't encourage that kind of pastime, unfortunately."

Shiro backed and readied for a new round, the caress of his katana taunting a thin hiss from Mephisto's.

"What they don't know won't hurt them." He circled carefully, smile in place and senses coiled to spring. "Or us."

"A man after my own heart~" The demon smirked, joining in the slow dance, the tips of their swords almost touching as they circled each other slowly. "If you can land a strike on me…?"

"You pay my tuition for a year." Jesus, Mephisto's eyes were _glowing_! Maybe this was a bad idea…? Tch, of course it was. But it was the only idea he had left. "And you don't go all out; no more than you've been doing up until now. And if I can't hit you?"

That smile… Shiro's intestines curled up in a trembling knot. It didn't matter that his body was human: that smile belonged to a creature of hell.

"Then I will own you for a year~"

Quid pro quo. A year for a year.

Shiro's fingers curled tighter around the handle, feeling the texture of the woven bands. He was a reckless idiot, alright, but he pulled his stunts off most of the time. Could he afford to play the odds on this one…? Then again: could he afford not to? Risk one year as Mephisto's plaything, or risk losing his soul to the bastard…

"Deal."

"Oh~? Even for you, that is… reckless~" he purred, switching to a defensive pose like sand shifting in the wind. "Know neither the enemy nor yourself, and you will succumb in every battle. You need to learn your limits, Shiro-pon~"

" _We'll see about that_ ", he thought, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. One hit. One hit and all his worries would be gone.

He went all out right from the start. In a prolonged battle, he would tire and Mephisto remain fresh. If he was going to hit him, he would have to do it as soon as possible.

He knew every habit and telltale sign Mephisto made when they practiced. He parried left before the strike had fallen, cut at his legs as soon as he shifted his weight to move, aimed for the shoulder and angled for the neck.

There is only so much a human can do against a demon. Humans have restraint, in more than one way: the human body has limits, and they are not easily surpassed. Mephisto held himself back as agreed, but he was still on a whole different level. And Shiro was ill. His movements grew heavier, as did his breathing. His technique gave way to hazard, grasping desperately at straws that wouldn't be caught. Victory glittered cruelly in the forest green eyes. There was no way he'd manage to hit him: they both knew that.

Shiro's katana zinged furiously through the air. He had to hit him. Had to, had to, had t-

He staggered, clutching his bandaged side. His body bent in pain, and the katana dangled listlessly from his left hand.

"Shit…"

"Exceptionally unintelligent, even for you." Wooden sandals clicked on the pavement. "With or without injury, you couldn't have won." That's right: come closer, just a little closer… "Now, my little lion, you-"

Shiro launched forward like a coiled spring, using his bent body to throw the slash as far out as he could, and whipped the blade up with speed that sang in the air. It was a dead angle, but he should…

" _Fuck!_ "

He'd missed. He'd bloody missed. The angle had been right, but Mephisto had dodged it. Damn his demonic speed to hell…!

" _I'm screwed…_ " Shiro clenched his teeth, his mind rapidly telling him exactly what he could expect from the one year he would be slave to the demon. Screwed, in every sense of the word.

…or?

The look on Mephisto's face wasn't as smug as you'd expect: surprised, rather. He stroked the long bangs that curtained his face on the right side: they were considerably shorter than on the left side.

"Oya oya…" He let a few severed hairs sail down on the floor. "Not a hit, but not a miss. How rare, to tie in a bet." He smiled as if that outcome was far better than winning. "Consider yourself lucky, Shiro-pon~"

"Lucky?" He raised a disdainful eyebrow. "All warfare is based on deception. When able to attack, make yourself seem unable. You're not the only one who's read Sun Tzu."

Mephisto put his hand on his hip with a snicker. There was a merry light playing in his eyes, one that seemed unusually genuine for the old trickster.

"I didn't read him: I taught him."

He should have felt despair for losing. Well, he neither lost nor won, per definition: didn't get what he had hoped, at any rate. Yet some small part of him felt like he'd won anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**  
>  You know it from Tatsuma Suguro's flashbacks, yeah? Shiro is good at faking injury... And I just couldn't resist making something of the slightly shorter bangs on the right side of Mephisto's face. ;P
> 
>  **Sun Tzu** was that cool Chinese dude who assembled the most fundamental, most ingenuous guidelines for warfare and titled it _The Art of War_. The quote I'm using here is "If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."


	46. Kindred spirits

This time, finally, Shiro remembered to bring Mephisto's bathrobe along. He'd been called up to his office by bat-mail, with his forgotten star pendant attached to it. Some minority of his self voiced the hope that it could be because the demon was considering paying his tuition anyway, but it was glared into silence by the more rational part of him. Mephisto was not one for charity.

It was the actual office, not the subterranean lake that usually greeted him when he opened the white door. He'd almost forgotten how flashy it was… And the large desk had gotten a considerable contribution of robot toys.

"I was starting to think you liked it so much you would keep it", the now formally-dressed demon smiled when he poofed the bathrobe away to his mansion.

"And I was starting to think that if you thought I wouldn't pay for it, you'd raid my room at night." He grabbed the least fancy chair by the backrest. "By the way: aren't you gonna…?" Shiro put the chair down in front of the desk and snapped his fingers. "Poof that back?"

Mephisto ran the decimated tress of hair between his gloved fingers as Shiro sat down.

"I actually like it. Shows my jaw line in a most complimenting way." He smiled playfully at the face Shiro pulled. "It's a habit among immortals to keep mementos. Eternity is dreadfully dull without the occasional milestone."

"And I'll be remembered as the guy who gave you a haircut. Great."

"It's the best you could manage, apparently", he said with that look of idle amusement that was so typical of him. Spreading his hands, he added: "I _could_ have remembered you as the boy who spent half a year chasing the tail of a girl he couldn't get."

"Oh, rub it in a bit more; I know you want to." His thoughts made a loop, and the conclusion they arrived at painted a grin on his face. "While you still can. I hear memory gets worse with age: must be inconvenient indeed for an immortal."

"Time doesn't affect me: think of it rather as being eternally young."

"A mirror would beg to differ", Shiro said smoothly, earning a sour look and a twitching eyebrow from Mephisto.

"A romantically inept boy with the eyesight of a mole is hardly fit to pass that kind of judgment. I'll have you know I'm the most sought-after bachelor this side of the Pacific."

Shiro didn't even respond to that: merely quirked an eyebrow and pulled a crooked grin that didn't believe a shit of what the demon said.

Mephisto snapped his fingers, and a horrendous, glossy magazine flopped down in Shiro's hands. _Cosmopolitan_? Wasn't that a women's maga- oh was he even surprised…? The cover did rank multi-millionaire Johann Faust IV as the most desirable man in Asia and Europe (where he supposedly hailed from). But the one smiling flirtatiously on the cover wasn't Mephisto. Or, hang on…

Shiro squinted at the photo. It _was_ Mephisto. It was his smug smile, his drooping eyes and his glove on the hand that held the wine glass – no mistake about it – but the rest… He wore a dapper-looking striped suit, no doubt tailor-made, and a deep red shirt with black tie and gold pin. His hair was black, with the first hint of silver at the temples; his eyes were a clear, light gray, and human; there were no fangs in the grin, no pointed ears, no goofy hair curl… Shiro looked up at the real-life equivalent behind the desk.

"Is this what you look like to people who can't see demons?"

"Yes. That's the original appearance of the body I'm possessing." He frowned ever so slightly. "Almost seven Zoll shorter…"

Oh, so _that_ was the reason for the heels…?

"Well, those women don't know you." He tossed the magazine on the desk: the sound of paper hitting hard surface alerted the little wastebasket, which came hopping over to him with an expectant gleam in its beady eyes. "So what did you call me here for?"

"Various matters. Your teachers in regular school asked me to, for one. I am obliged to tell you that if you don't start handing in your neglected homework you will be suspended from school, without getting your final grades." Mephisto leisurely took a sip from a steaming teacup, as if it weren't any greater concern that Shiro might lose ownership of his soul even _before_ spring semester ended. Well, it wasn't any big concern. For him. "Second, I will be the main negotiator at the joint meeting with the Futotsuki clan leaders and True Cross Order representatives in May." The smile he levelled at Shiro next reminded him an awful lot of the smile he had worn when he announced that Shiro would accompany him to the Vatican over Christmas. "And I want you to attend."

Shiro's eyebrows went up.

"'cause I'm known far and wide for my diplomatic skill. Why would I attend?"

"For once in your life: as a role model~ You", Mephisto pointed his teaspoon at him with a flick of his wrist, "are a rare amalgamation of opposing traditions. You already hold the respect of two members of the Futotsuki clan, one of which introduced you to their ages-old ways of bonding with demons. And you study for the Order, more industriously than any Todo or Yaonaru ever has. But most important of all: me." Indeed, what could be more important? Shiro held back a smile. Even without heels, his ego was at least two metres tall. "Impertinence aside, you have a commendable understanding of demon nature, which is a good quality in the eyes of both Futotsuki and exorcists; if for different reasons~" he added with an amused smirk, taking another sip of tea. "If the Futotsuki and the Vatican are to continue their cooperation, a sample like you might be the grain that tips the scales."

A "sample" - sheesh Mephisto made it sound like he was some rare display on an exhibition.

"Provided that I don't get kicked out of school before the meeting", Shiro said bluntly.

"I'm counting on you to do your best to avoid that."

Shiro was about to deliver a scathing response to that when Mephisto's butler – Belial, was it? – appeared, completely unnoticed until then, and whispered something in his master's ear behind a white-gloved hand.

"Ah~ Excuse me for a moment, Shiro-kun."

"'I'm counting on you to do your best'", Shiro mimicked sourly as soon as Mephisto and Belial had poofed away. "And he wonders why I'm 'impertinent', bloody arrogant twat…"

Now what? He didn't want to risk falling asleep before Mephisto came back: those desk drawers were bound to hide at least one permanent marker. Instead, he turned to the panda. It had bounced restlessly around his chair the whole time, hoping for a treat. Rather than waste his precious tissue, he grabbed a notepad from the desk and tore off a page. The wastebasket spun in merry pirouettes as he crumpled the paper into a ball.

" _Suppose I do have a good understanding of demon nature, though…_ " He hadn't really expected any compassion with that hint. From a human, yes. Not from Mephisto. " _Anything that isn't amusing or useful, or both, doesn't interest him in the least._ "

On a whim, he put the crumpled paper on the floor to see what the panda would do about that. There was no way for its cylindrical body to bend, so it simply toppled over face down and munched up the trash. Then it rolled back and forth with squeaky, whiny sounds when it realised it couldn't get up again. Shiro lifted it back up and put a paper on the floor again, just to see if…

Yeah. It still fell over; and Shiro was still tired, and to his overworked brain this was hilariously funny.

"Aren't you just too stupid for words?" He guffawed as he had to lift the panda back up a second time. And a third.

Amusing as it was to watch the panda make the same stupid mistake over and over, Shiro's mind wasn't entirely fried. It saw the possibilities branching from the familiar's behaviour. It might be possible to teach it more tricks, now that it was such a glutton and so easily manipulated… Maybe it liked some kinds of trash better than others?

Shiro scanned the desk for things Mephisto might not miss. He looked at the steaming teacup on the tray. The teacup looked back. Shiro looked away, ensuring he had a firm grip on reason. He glanced at it sideways. It was still looking at him. Winking at him. Beckoning him with lewd promises woven into the steam that rose from it.

It was childish.

It was silly.

It was irresistible.

" _He's immortal_ ", he reminded himself. " _It won't really harm him, just… make him really mad…_ " And what would Mephisto do if he _really_ got mad? Shiro might get his head ripped off. Shiro might get a one-way ticket with Pink Bat-Airlines, end-station A Very Sharp Spike-fence On The Ground.

Worth it.

Shiro carefully memorised the location and angle of the cup: then he poured some of the tea back in the kettle and put it back on its saucer. Ever since the possession in February, he carried a small hip flask with holy water on him, just in case. Unplugging it, he refilled the cup until it was about as full as it had been before.

When Mephisto poofed into the office, Shiro was back in his chair and teaching the wastebasket to lie down and roll.

"It really is thick", he confirmed with a grin. "Keeps going for the treat, even when he knows it'll bite him in the end." He tossed another crumpled paper on the floor, and the panda happily toppled over.

"What a wonderful pastime, teaching my familiar how to be useless…" Mephisto folded himself back into the chair, folding his gloved hands beside the teacup. No, don't look at it. Don't look at the cup. Do _not_ look at the cup. "The meeting with the Futotsuki is the 10th of May: I will see to it that you are excused from classes entirely. Since it's an official trip we will be riding in the Vatican representatives' car, which is usually a rather unpleasant experience." He lifted the cup to his smiling lips. "Unless one is very short."

And…

Worth it. So worth it.

Mephisto's curl curled itself tighter, and his face… was the kind of face you pull when you down a glass of water in one gulp – or so you think, until you realise it's soap bubbles. It looked like he would turn visibly blue… And when Mephisto rushed into the bathroom, Shiro couldn't hold back anymore. He laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair.

"It's not funny!" the voice shrieked in between coughs and sounds of spitting and choking. "It burns, you stupid monkey! What kind of devil-spawn are you?! It's- ptwieh! I can't feel my tongue, you homicidal imp!"

"Comes with the job description: the greatest troublemaker True Cross Academy has ever seen~" He sauntered over to lean against the door frame and give Mephisto better view of his smug face; the moments he weren't hanging his head over the toilet, that was. "I just wanted to see what holy water would do to someone of your rank. Surely, a demon understands the temptation of curiosity…?"

The hair curl vibrated with ire as Mephisto spat another mouthful of black, sizzling miasma.

"You're an uncivilized, uncouth, unbearable, awful human being", he moped, picking duck-patterned paper from a tissue box and wiping his mouth. "Poisoning your principal, ingratiating yourself to my familiars…!"

Nobody could mope like Mephisto. It was like fine Swiss chocolate: once you develop a taste for it, nothing else will quite suffice.

"I just make use of my good understanding of demon nature~" Oh, there would be retaliation. Going for the treat, even when you know it will bite you in the end… "What was it? 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'?" Shiro smirked, drinking in the caustic glares with pleasure. "And you can't die, so…"

"Oh, really? Shall I expect you to put a gun to my head when you get your Dragoon license? To see what _happens_?" he grumbled indignantly, flushing the black ooze down the drain.

"Haven't thought about that…" Shiro kept smiling amiably even when Mephisto got to his feet and towered over him. "Right now I'm pretty satisfied with spiking your tea." Tea. That's right, the _tea_ … "You can consider it payback for doodling on my face. Quid pro quo~?"

Oh, it wasn't going to be quid pro quo. Never. Mephisto was used to coming out on top, and so was Shiro. When he left the office a while later, it was with the silent promise of continued rivalry cracking sparks in the air, and an expectant smirk on his face. The demon wanted a match? He would get one.

It is common knowledge that those who play with fire risk getting burnt. For some, the risk is the whole reason for playing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N**
> 
> (I have wanted to do this, every time there's a panel of Mephisto sipping his tea…83 *one of my life's quests is completed*)
> 
> **Regarding the photo,** it just struck me that people without mashou couldn't see the horns and tail and stuff on Shiratori when he beat up Rin in the first volume, so I figure they wouldn't be able to see Mephisto's demonic traits either (or capture them on camera). Uh, it made sense when I wrote it…? ^_^'
> 
> **I don't read women's magazines… |'-P** I think Cosmopolitan usually just ranks the hottest bachelors in the U.S., but I googled it and got hits for "sexiest man in the world", too. In 1976-speak I guess that would be "most desirable man in the world", for the sake of properness.
> 
> **Zoll?** I like old measurements – well, old things in general – because they speak interesting, often neglected stories about the people of the past. Ein Zoll corresponds fairy well to an inch, and is 1/12 of ein Fuß (foot). The foot is measured from an actual foot originally, of course, and that's the fun of it (I think, but I might be alone in that =P), because the size of peoples' feet vary from place to place. If you check Wikipedia's list on old measurements for Germany you can get anything from the older Fuß in Cremona, which was 480 mm, to the Fuß in Darmstadt that was standardized to 250 mm. People generally have bigger feet in Austria than in Germany…?
> 
> **Anywho,** seven Zoll according to the Wittemberg Fuß (283 mm) equals roughly 16.5 cm, so Mephisto's body in this interpretation would only be 178.5 cm (compared to his post-possession 195 cm). Still taller than Shiro, though… x'D


	47. Desperate measures

"Hey, Saburota-senpai?"

"It's sensei."

"Substitute-sensei, then." Shiro wished that Futotsuki-sensei would come back. "I have to run an errand over lunch break, so could I borrow your key to the supply shop?"

"Only licensed exorcists are allowed to visit the supply shop. What do you need?" Saburota evened his stack of notes against the teacher's desk.

"Not me: Sir Pheles", he said casually. "He's busy with the Futotsuki affair, so he asked me to fetch him some more of that herbal tea. Just there and back again – you'll have your key waiting for you at the dorm this afternoon."

The look on the substitute teacher's face said that if Shiro was doing this just so he could flirt with Sayuri, he would sink even lower in his esteem. Saburota never brought up the story about Midori; that didn't mean he didn't know of it. Half the cram school did, it seemed. Shizuku had teased him for it for a week and showed no signs of tiring.

"Very well", he sighed eventually, rummaging around the pockets of his well-ironed and perfectly creased uniform. "Make sure not to lose it."

* * *

"G'day", he said cheerfully as he sauntered into the cramped little shop, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth. "How's business, Sayuri-chan?" A forest spirit, huh…? Well, she could mislead him in the woods any day she liked…

"Busy", she smiled, unpacking a new revolver with a pentagram emblazoned on the grip. "As are you, I hear. Will you really go for all five Meisters after exams this spring?"

"I'll try to. One semester at a time, though. I'm here on Pheles' behalf again. Have you got any more of that tea he's fond of?"

"I shall check that for you, just a moment…" She collected stray wood wool back in the crate and carried it behind the counter. "Isn't that a bit too much to ask of you? He must know you're busy, and yet he wants you to run his errands too?"

"There are times when I'd like to hit him in the head with a Bible", Shiro confessed with a smile and rested his elbows on the counter. "But I don't mind coming here to visit two such lovely ladies."

"Some mouth you've got", she chuckled from the cabinets. "I hear a lot about that, too. You're quite the hell-raiser. Speaking of which." She placed a strong-smelling parcel on the counter. "Could I have one of those?"

"A smoke? Well, sure… as long as you don't tell your mom." He gave her a knowing glance as he fished out a packet from his chest pocket. "Need a light?"

"No, thank you." She had a matchbook ready and lit the cigarette with accustomed ease. "She wouldn't care anyway. All she cares about is her garden." She blew a thin fan of smoke into the air, holding the cigarette between her middle and ring finger.

Why is it that when a guy smokes, he looks cool; but when a woman smokes, she looks sexy…?

"She cares about you, too." Shiro held his cigarette forward, and she lit it for him with the tip of hers. "She just doesn't know how to show it."

"That's true for many parents, I suppose – just look at the Todos and the Yaonarus… What about your parents? You're not from an exorcist family, that much I can tell." She cocked an eyebrow with an ironic smile. "I know the name of every single one of them in the whole country. There's no Fujimoto around. It's a beautiful name, though."

"The only good thing my parents gave me, I guess. They're both dead." He let out an amorphous cloud of smoke, then blew a hole through it to make a smoke ring.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know." Her eyes grew serious underneath the long lashes. "Demons…?"

"Not even that", he chuckled under his breath. "Suicides, both. Oh, well – there could have been demons involved, I suppose. I didn't have a mashou at the time." What's to say Hiromi had been human? She could have been possessed. Not that it mattered.

"What made you want to become an exorcist, then? How did you even learn of demons? If you don't mind me asking", she said hurriedly, realising maybe she was being intrusive.

The story repeated itself in his mind: the plastic bag blowing away from the roof, the terrified Fuji, breaking into Mephisto's office… Really, he'd stumbled over a pebble and fallen down a ravine.

"Twist of fate, I s'pose", he shrugged. "I got a mashou, and from there one thing just led to another. It suits me, I think…" He rolled the cigarette idly between his fingers. "I'm not very good with people." A wolfish grin spread on his lips as he thought of Mephisto's sulking glares at their last skirmish. "I seem to be better at dealing with demons."

"Careful with what you say there", Sayuri smiled.

"Pff, well, not _dealing_ with demons", he chuckled.

"Hello, Shiro-kun. What are you doing here?" Agari asked from behind him. "Dealing with demons…?"

"Dealing _for_ demons, rather", Sayuri smiled before he could open his mouth. "He's Sir Pheles' delivery boy. What can I do for you, Miss?"

Shiro was quite sure he felt a second degree burn develop where Agari was glowering at his back. Wasn't that just great? When his own mouth didn't sabotage things, others' did it for him…

"I'll be going, then", he excused himself hurriedly and took the parcel. "Thank you, Sayuri-chan."

Oh, the glare he met when he turned around…

"Don't make your master wait, delivery boy." And a tone to match…

As so often happened, Shiro had responded before he could think:

"Yeah, it's hard to let a little cuddle-bun like him out of sight for long, don't you agree…?"

Oh, it was beautiful. It was like watching an avalanche from a distance: a shining mass of cold death set in motion, it picked up speed and built by degree, built and built, until finally… realisation hit with full force.

Shiro sprinted along the aqueduct, faster than he had ever run before, grinning like an idiot. Worth it. He would preserve that look on her face in a sacred corner of his mind forever. He flipped out his switchblade as he ran and made a cut in the back of his hand, calling shahrokh to carry him away from what had to be the fiercest enemy he'd met by far.

* * *

"Okay, how do I do this…?" he muttered.

He had boiled water in a kettle in the dorm kitchen and was deciding how much of the dried herbs to put in the tea infuser. He didn't know how much of the stuff Mephisto used, or what would be a suitable dose for a human: only that it would let you work night and day, and that was what he needed to do to catch up with his homework.

One dash? It looked pitifully little, that couldn't give any effect… Two dashes? Maybe… He ended up adding a third, since he had a test in exorcism history in two days. It gave off a dark, brownish red colour in the water, and it smelt just like Mephisto's tea.

" _Right…_ " He glanced at the bag of sweets he'd purchased as preparation. " _Bottoms up._ "

He almost spat it out immediately. How the hell did Mephisto drink this without even blinking…? Taking a deep breath and pinching his nose, he downed the cup quickly.

" _Alright, so now I just… wait and see?_ "

* * *

Shiro woke up in the infirmary with no memory of the past four days, needles taped into his arms and a clip on his right index finger, and humming machines measuring all kinds of statuses on him. Moriyama-san came by twice, to give him brews that would re-stabilise his gut flora, and to reprimanded him for tricking her daughter and trying to drink something that was adapted for demons. Shizuku and Ryuuji came by to ask if he had ever thought about moving in permanently in the infirmary, since that's where he usually ended up anyway. Midori and Sen came by to wish him well, and to express their amazement that he had managed to hand in half a year's worth of homework in half a week. Even Mephisto came by, to congratulate him on being too dumb to be alive, but expressed it in more sophisticated ways.

In all, Shiro thought his little experiment had turned out well. Until he realised he'd lost his cram school key.


	48. Das Labyrint des Limbus

He caught rides with Shizuku and Ryuuji to begin with, and could only hope to heavens that his own key turned up. Nobody had seen it. Mephisto was of no help, since he couldn't locate it even though it was created using his power. He did give an explanation when Shiro had asked why, but it had been far too complicated for him to understand and somehow involved jellybeans. ...it might have been difficult to understand simply _because_ Mephisto used jellybeans to explain it, but Shiro saw no use in arguing with the princess. The key would turn up, eventually. Whoever had found it must be randomly waltzing about the cram school corridors sometime soon.

So when Mephisto informed him that something – or someone – had been caught in das Labyrinth des Limbus, Shiro face-palmed with a groan.

"You think it's someone who found my key?"

"The presence is human, to be sure", Mephisto confirmed while engaged in his latest hobby: arranging the toys in his office in the glass cabinet. "And since all exorcists and cram school students know not to enter the off limits areas, I can only conclude that the trespasser is an outsider. Should I give the mechas a level of their own, or should I put them with Kamen Rider? They go so nicely with the Kamen Riders…" He snapped his fingers and made the little figurines rearrange. "But then one can't see all the separate details…"

"Right, so… Will you get whoever-it-is out of there today, or when you're done playing with your toys…?"

"That might take a while. Rather, I'm going to send in search team with custom-made exit keys. Dissembling and reassembling the labyrinth would be quite tedious work; and besides, I wouldn't want the rat to slip the trap." He snapped his fingers again, apparently not happy with how _Tetsuwan Atom_ 's colour scheme clashed with _Cutie Honey_ 's. "There are wards inside the labyrinth that the saboteurs have not been able to reach – yet. Which leads me to think our trespasser may or may not have stumbled in there accidentally. So~" The green eyes drifted from the cabinet to Shiro. "How would you like to be on the team and get your key back?"

* * *

"Okay, so… How about we introduce ourselves? I've been appointed leader of this search group, and my name's Inoue Katsu. I'm an intermediate first class Knight and Tamer, but I prefer fighting as Knight."

He looked like one. You could hang him on a Medieval tapestry and his tall, broad frame would fit perfectly in among the armoured Crusaders.

"Yoshitaka Daisuke, junior first class Aria and Tamer", said a smaller guy who constantly fidgeted with his nails.

"The one with the eidetic memory?" Katsu said. "I've heard about you – good work on the ghoul invasion over at Northern True Cross."

"Thank you", Daisuke smiled shyly. "I've heard of you too, senpai."

The next one, Shiro recognised…

"Yaonaru Akihiro." Apparently, the jerkface considered that all the presentation he needed. Well, everybody knew who Yaonaru were, but Shiro was the only one who knew why his nose was slightly crooked.

"Sakubara Ayako", said the team's only girl: a petite, feline thing. "Intermediate second class Knight and Dragoon. And for this mission, tracker." She tapped her nose with a pleasant smile. A half-demon girl. Knew better than to try his luck there.

"The shrine priest's daughter", Katsu observed in interested tones. "I hear you're quite the prodigy with a khakkhara. Would you mind sparring some day?"

"I hear you're highest ranked in your year class, senpai: it would be my pleasure~"

Shiro groaned inwardly. Why, _why_ did they have that… that _something_ that ordinary girls didn't? In the sudden quiet, Shiro realised that everybody was waiting for him to speak up. Ugh. It nagged him more than he would admit that he was the same age as some of them, and had so much less experience. Tch, whatever…

"Fujimoto Shiro. I… am an Esquire, and I study to Meister in everything." He gestured at both the scabbard at his left side and the holster at his right side.

" _You're_ that guy?" Daisuke said, eyeing him with a mixture of expectations defeated and curiosity kindled. "I heard you memorised half of Jeremiah in your first four weeks and took down a mid-level naga singlehandedly."

"I did, but I had help, too. A familiar and a girl in my class, Sakura Midori-chan."

"You're Midori-san's friend?" Ayako eyed him with an appreciative little smile. "I heard you exorcised yourself from possession using Futotsuki's secret arts."

"That's true…" he admitted, taken aback by how fast word got around. There weren't that many cram school students compared with how many regular students the Academy had, but still…

"And I heard, from Toshio-sensei, that Sir Pheles himself took you out of Knight class", Katsu fell in. "If you still study for all five Meisters… does that mean _he_ is your teacher?"

"Yeah." There was no real way to lie about that; better to admit it straight out than make it sound suspicious. "Honestly, I'd rather have Toshio-sensei", he said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish face. "Pheles is a slave-driver, and his approach to teaching is pretty much 'you learn better by getting burnt than by being told the hotplate is warm.'"

So maybe he was a late bloomer. Maybe he didn't have their field experience and years of studying. But he did have a reputation to make up for that. The only one who didn't comment on his sprawling fame was Akihiro: but on the other hand, he was the only one with first-hand experience of Shiro's performances.

"The objective of the operation is as follows: find the idiot who's in there, and get out. Simple." That was all the mission briefing Shiro needed to conclude that Katsu was a guy he could get along with: straightforward, and relaxed. "The keys you've gotten don't look like the usual skeleton keys, and that's because they aren't." He held up his key for demonstration: it lacked teeth whatsoever, and was more of a small metal rod with a handle. "These don't need any door, for the simple reason that there are no doors out of the labyrinth. It's a looped dimension: you can get in, but you can't get out. Don't ask me to explain that further 'cause I can't. So lose this key, and you'll have to hope we feel kind enough to go in a second time and search for you. To get out, just stick it in the wall and turn clockwise: they all lead to the same spot. According to Sir Pheles there are three or four demons currently trapped in there that might still be alive, but none of them strong enough to give us any serious trouble. If you still feel you'd rather have somebody to hold hands with, team up with someone: otherwise, it will be quicker if we all spread and search individually. Ayako-chan, you point us in likely directions using your nose, and the rest comes down to good old-fashioned manual labour. Reassemble in 1600 hours to report: if we've found the dumbass, good. If we haven't, we're going in one more round. Any questions, ladies and gentlemen?"

* * *

They trotted single-file to the off-limits section of the Academy. It was very simple, really: a door marked with a filigree sign that said OFF LIMITS, flanked by stars on each side. Shiro had to agree with Katsu: you had to be a dumbass to get trapped in there. "In there?" There was _nothing_ there: the corridor behind it looked just the same as all the others.

"Say, Katsu-san; when do we enter the actual labyrinth?" Daisuke asked up ahead.

"We just did", the tall Knight confirmed. "What you see is an illusion the labyrinth puts on so we won't realise we've fallen into the trap. If you have strong faith, you might see through it that way: otherwise, rubbing holy water in your eyes will do the trick. I've got some on me, for those who need it."

Shiro used his own from his hip flask. When he put his glasses back on, what he saw was entirely different.

The human mind is designed and trained to process the world it is born into: outside that, it has no references to identify what its senses pick up, and fumbles awkwardly with inadequate words and vague metaphors to describe what it finds. If breath had colour, that would be the colour of those walls: if worry had shape, that would be their twisting, rippling texture. That was the only way Shiro could put words on the strange world around him.

"What can you tell us, Ayako-chan?"

Sound didn't travel through the air as usual, either. It was very annoying, to hear everything as though you had conductive hearing loss.

"A human has passed by here. Male." She walked ahead into what Shiro had perceived as a solid wall, but that proved to be an optical illusion: the half-demon followed her nose through a… corridor… tunnel… It seemed to move and twist as they walked, making Shiro slightly dizzy. "Demons crossed his track and followed it." She sniffed again, and her nose crinkled in disgust. "A rot demon."

"Any signs it caught up with him?" Akihiro asked.

"Not that I…" Ayako's eyebrows pulled together. "He… crossed his own track." She stopped where the passageway forked in at least four directions. "Several times. And the most recent track is…" she turned, sniffing all directions, face growing more and more confused. "Back where we came from", she concluded, pointing. "This is crazy."

"It's a custom-made dimension", Katsu said, shrugging. "It was designed to be confusing."

"I know all about custom-made dimensions", Ayako frowned. "There was a family of kitsune whose cubs I used to play with back home. They create illusions and dimensions, too, but not like this. The scent says our target passed by just minutes ago: we should have _met_ him. Confusing as magic-made dimensions can be, they are consistent within themselves. This one, as far as I can tell, isn't."

"What you say is that we were in the same place at the same time, and we still didn't see him?" Akihiro said with a perfect mirror of Kita's Impatient and Annoyed Look. "Wouldn't that be the definition of impossible?"

"Not if it's more than one space-loop", Shiro said. He had picked up some things from hanging around Mephisto, after all. "You said magic-made dimensions are consistent within themselves, yeah? But what if this one isn't? What if there are several more loops where space bends within the labyrinth? So that even if we go back there", he nodded in the direction they had come, "the passageway won't lead back to the same place because we crossed one of those loops?"

"Multi-layered, asymmetrical spatial distortion within a looped, and thereby per definition symmetrical, dimension? Do you have any idea how much effort it would take to keep such a thing operational?" Akihiro snorted.

" _Do you have any idea how little effort it would take to crack your nose back to its original shape?_ " Shiro thought to himself, but settled for a different cheeky response: "None, actually. Care to elaborate on it, or should we admit straight away that any calculations applying to the real world don't apply here, and that it's impossible to go about this as a normal search mission?"

"If Ayako-chan and Shiro-san are right, it is impossible", Katsu's calm, reverberating voice concluded. "I can't repeat what Akihiro-san said about multi-layered distortion, but it's clear to me that searching section by section systematically is out of the question. With no way of organizing this, I say we split and just hope we stumble over the idiot. Any objections to that? Good. See you again at 1600 hours."

There was no light, and yet it wasn't dark. There were shadows where shadows shouldn't be, and they moved with a life of their own. What looked like walls weren't always walls, and passages weren't always passages. Frankly, the whole place screwed with your head, and Shiro felt that his was being screwed right off his neck. Imagine being caught and never finding your way out of this place…

…and getting shot at.

Shiro flattened himself against the wall, gun in hand. Good luck judging distance in here… He fired a quick two shots around the corner, ducked low and peeked from knee-height. Who were the other Dragoons on the team…? Akihiro and Ayako, right? Probably that inbred dick, then…

He didn't see anyone, and so sprinted ahead – only to reach a fork. Tch… Maybe it was just a mistake? Someone who had taken him for a demon?

" _A demon that shoots back? Not likely. And they would've given a shout when they realised the mistake._ " He went ahead more carefully, gun unsecured in his hand. " _I should get out right now and tell Mephisto…_ " But he hadn't actually _seen_ anything, and he didn't know what kind of girl Ayako was – maybe… " _What the…? 'Nothing strong enough to give us serious trouble', you say?_ " He aimed his gun slowly, moving as little as possible, at the huge, slobbering bull ghoul that trained its hollow eyes on him. " _In what fucking world is that not serious trouble, Mephisto?_ "

Shiro had run through three forks, emptying at least two magazines into the charging demon, before he literally ran into Daisuke.

"If you've got the chants for ghoul type demons, start chanting!" Shiro shouted, getting to his feet and aiming at the passageway he'd come from. Waiting, tense as a violin string… "Huh… must've taken a wrong turn somewhere", he mumbled through his speeding heartbeat. He brought the gun down, but neither secured it nor put it back in the holster.

"You met a demon?" Daisuke dusted himself off. "I almost envy you. I haven't seen a thing except this." He gestured around at the same strange, colourless walls they had seen forever. "Thank god it's almost four p.m.. We've only been here two hours and I feel like I'm losing it. I can't even imagine what it must be like to actually be lost in here."

* * *

Oh, it was a relief to get out. To see _colours_ , and things that had _shape_ , and things that had _purpose_ and didn't move… An enormous fatigue came over Shiro. He hadn't realised how much that dimension had drained him but all of a sudden his eyelids were heavy and his head aching.

Last one out of the bathroom door was Katsu – with…

" _He seems awfully familiar…_ " Shiro scowled, trying to remember where he had seen that kid before. Something about that face… Oh, yeah. Something about that face dishevelled, crumpled up in fear and close to tears. Just the bleeding nose missing, really…

"Hi, kiddo. Remember me? Got something that's mine?" he said, watching as the freshman produced his cram school key from his trousers' pocket.

* * *

"His name is Ayabito Susumu", Mephisto read aloud from a file, looking exceptionally bored. "First year in regular high school, good grades but not exceptional, comes from Eastern True Cross Town… no connection to Yaonaru, Todo, Futotsuki, or anything at all related to exorcism." Mephisto closed the file. "Except on the occasion he was beaten up and got his eyebrows burnt off by an exorcist student." He tilted his head to the side. "I must confess I am slightly curious about that."

"He said my glasses looked stupid", Shiro muttered.

"Well, they do, in a way…"

" _Don't_ even go there", he warned, giving the smirking demon his best warning glare. "I've had a crap day, and I've still got a mag left for the gun, if you don't wanna wait till I get my Dragoon license."


	49. Shahrokh: Deep Keep

"Saburota-senpai is an awful teacher", Shiro complained in between strikes. "With Futotsuki-sensei, seals and wards were fun. With him it's just… lines and angles."

"You should study the subject, not the teacher." Easy for him to say, he didn't need seals to summon demons… "And you should keep that sloppy pose a bit more-"

Mephisto froze mid-strike in their sparring match.

"The wards…"

"Another one down?" Shiro asked, but knew the answer would be no. This was not a reaction to a torn ward.

A ghastly grin stretched the demon's lips.

" _All_ went down. And I was just growing impatient~" Mephisto sheathed his sword. "You stay here." With a poof, he was gone.

"Like hell!" Shiro snorted, sheathed his own sword and ran.

The only keys he had was the one going to the practice range and the one going to the cram school. He took the cram school key out long before he reached the entrance to the underground base, and wasted no time slamming it into the lock and turning it.

It surprised him how he had… planned it. As he sped down the almost empty corridors, some unknown part of his brain presented him the step-by-step plan on what to do. Solomon's Seal had its centre in Deep Keep. Whatever it sealed was down there, and so were the saboteurs, and Mephisto. And the only ones who had keys to Deep Keep…

Shiro's mental map-reading was cut short by a huge lizard, setting doorframes on fire as it crawled leisurely through the corridor. For a salamander it wasn't that big, but it was still dangerous. He spat out the verses that would exorcise it while running and watched the salamander evaporate back to Gehenna in a gush of miasma.

" _First sign the wards are down, huh?_ " He clenched his teeth and kept running. He knew exactly where he was going…

"Oi, Saburota-senpai!" Shiro threw the door to the classroom open. Saburota was there, thank the gods… "The key. Ghimmeh your key", he panted heavily. "To Deep Kheep."

"To Deep Keep?" Saburota didn't appear bothered by seeing him covered in goblin blood, or even aware that the school was being overrun with demons. He had just been about to pack up his drafting compass. "May I see your permit, Fujimoto-kun?"

"Look at me, you ass!" he snarled, so glad that he was taller than the guy he was yelling at. "Do I look like I have time to get a blasted permit?!"

"You look like one who needs to slow down and think about how you address your superiors. Protocol dictates-"

Shiro head-butted him and shoved a knee in his belly as he bent forward. Good thing Saburota was too entangled in regulations to ever think that a student might attack him.

"You can shove your protocol someplace." He dumped the half-conscious exorcist inside one of the warding circles the classroom was equipped with and dug out every key he could find in his pockets. "And by the way, you suck at this job."

He snagged a paper summoning circle from the portfolio on the desk – never knew what he might get himself into – and tried the keys one by one on the classroom door, until-

" _This must be it._ "

Shiro hadn't had any particular image of Deep Keep, but this had to be it. It looked like a subterranean bank, with vault after vault grafted into the walls of the corridors, hidden behind massive steel doors adorned with seals. And in one of them, probably…

" _How am I supposed to know which one it is when they all look the same…? And where are the guards?_ "

He ran along the main corridor, throwing glances down every one that branched off of it. He could only hope to spot a door with its seal broken. And hope his elephantine footfalls miraculously didn't alert the saboteurs. He found only one guard – spilled all over the floor from a clean cut straight across his torso. Two white streaks in his hair – a Todo…? Well, he was dead: better worry about the living. Whatever he meant by that.

" _I don't have a goddamn clue what I'll do if I find it… if I can do anything…_ " His breathing was already heavy as he neared the end of the main corridor, where it made a sharp turn to the right. " _I hope my brain's got a plan for that, too…_ " He rounded the corner and almost got his head cut off. "Oi, take it easy!"

Mephisto must have heard him coming a mile a way, with those ears of his. He had waited around the corner, sword at the ready, and halted just in time not to behead Shiro. The demon looked as surprised as he was: an expression that vanished quick enough.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Helping you catch the saboteurs; that's the deal we made."

"Eins, zwei, drei!"

There came no poof. No pink smoke. Mephisto was about to snap his fingers again, but halted: the sharp, dark claws had pierced the fingertips of his gloves. An expression flashed across his face that made Shiro's bones shiver.

"The audacity…!" He growled – actually _growled_ – and tossed the gloves as he set off running.

"You've lost your powers? How?" The breath seethed in Shiro's throat: keeping up with Mephisto's long legs very nearly had him bust a lung. "Just what the hell's going on?"

"My powers have been sealed." He skidded around a corner into a side corridor. "There are very few seals that can accomplish such a thing, but they exist. If you know what you're looking for. Meanwhile; barriers, keys, defences – everything dependent on my power: poof." There was dark humour curling in his voice. It was getting worse up there, no doubt. If fear of Mephisto's powers was what kept demons off the premises, and those powers were gone, then…

"How do we get your powers back?" Shiro wheezed in one breath, running like he'd never run before in his life.

"Not we. I." Mephisto swung the sword's handle at his head; if Shiro hadn't been training with the demon regularly, he would never have been able to read the signs in time to duck and skid under the blow.

"Oi, knock it off! If the school's in danger I wanna help!"

"Not with this." Mephisto's eyes were different – hell, all of him was different. His voice, his posture, his-

A convulsion shook the demon's body, and he coughed…

"Is that… miasma?" Shiro stared as Mephisto clamped a hand over his mouth.

The demon didn't reply. He didn't look healthy to begin with, but now… This was not good, _not_ good: all colour drained visibly from his skin, and he was shivering, face taut from fighting some form of invisible pain. He ran on in the same direction, but he was a lot slower.

"You better tell me what's going on, quick." Shiro caught up easily and slung one of the demon's bony arms over his shoulder to support him – not that there was much to support. "Does this have something to do with Solomon's seal being broken?"

"That? That's not the seal. It's the mirror, a link to the real seal", he whispered, his voice strained as if he were trying hard not to throw up as they staggered onwards. "The real one is in a pocket dimension, a third dimension where Assiah and Gehenna tangent. The seal around the Academy kept the pocket dimension closed to physical interference, but open for magic to pass through." He stifled a cough in his hand, miasma seeping out between his fingers. "If that seal is removed the pocket will open, giving access to the real seal."

That looked to be what they were headed for: smack in the middle of the corridor, there was an oddly shimmering surface… orb… thing? Shiro couldn't focus his eyes properly on it: it was a lot like the rippling illusion created by warm asphalt, giving the impression there's water on the road up ahead.

"I can't cross that", Mephisto growled, pulling Shiro to a stop outside a warding circle drawn around the shimmer. "They came well prepared… Destroy it."

" _If_ you tell me what you've sealed in there."

And to his surprise, the reply was immediate. And very short. And the last thing he would've expected to hear.

"Me."

"What? But you're here…?"

"It seals my heart, the source of my power. Can't fit all of it in a physical body, it would disintegrate…" The thin body shivered and quaked next to him.

" _There's something he's not telling me._ " That aside, he was already spilling way more than he ever had before; and way more than he really wanted to. "And what's happening right now is…?"

"Not that I have any previous experience of it", he coughed again, "but I think I'm being exorcised."

If what he said was true, it changed everything. If Mephisto wasn't a villain who kept a gargantuan monster of a demon stashed away in his basement…

" _I was wrong._ " Shiro scraped his katana over the lines and broke the ward.

They phased through the rippling surface, and Shiro recognised clearly the sensation of being magically transported across space. It was slower than when Mephisto did it; a warm, melting feeling, and a stretching of his being that that made his skin - made _every_ part of his body - crawl. The world around them blurred, then became the kind of textureless, confusing mish-mash of shifting landscape Shiro recognised from das Labyrinth des Limbus. And from the direction of a pulsing light around a bend, they heard a voice chanting.

"I don't recognise any of that", Shiro whispered, brow furrowing at the foreign tongue. "The hell's he chanting?"

"That's Aramaic…" Mephisto breathed, eyes huge in his greyish face. "But… I destroyed the-" More miasma welled up before he could check the cough, and little black globs fell to the ground with a sickening sizzling sound. "My fatal verses…!" he croaked out.

Fatal verses? Actual _fatal_ verses? They existed, even for the Kings?

"Weren't you immortal?" He did _not_ like Mephisto's rapidly deteriorating condition.

"Only if my heart is out of harm's reach… and it isn't…"


	50. Shahrokh: Sealing fate

The already confusing cavity twisted and bent in the light of… fire, for lack of better word. Inside a humongous hourglass-shape of two pyramids joined at the tips, black fire trickled down from the top chamber, and white trickled up from the bottom one; switching colour as they switched places, churning wildly in their confines. The shadows of six people flickered on the cavern walls, their bodies nothing but sharp silhouettes in the light. A huge seal, the Secret Seal of Solomon, had once encircled the hourglass, but was scraped out of use: an intricate binding seal was painted in its place.

"Six of them." He looked back at Mephisto, who was leaning heavily against the wall. Never seen the old goat like this. The purple bangs glued to his skin, and his breathing was quick and shallow. Like one about to pass out any moment. "If I break that seal, your powers return?"

"Yes."

"Swell. I'll expect the cavalry in a minute, then." False hope is better than none, at least when you look like that.

A clammy hand caught his shirt when he'd turned around to go.

"Don't…" Mephisto swallowed with effort. "Don't… break the container. Under any circumstances. They've… fully activated my heart, somehow… fully vulnerable to the chant… make them… stop…"

"You got it."

There is no real way of sneaking into a dead end with only one entrance. Then again, with the anti-demon fortifications on the way, it wasn't likely they expected to be disturbed.

"Oi! Stop that!" The moment of surprise was brief, but valuable: Shiro seized the guy closest by and held him like a shield, sword to his throat. "Stop chanting!"

"Idiot. We went into this prepared to die", the guy said in a calm voice: first sign that this… was not going to be easy.

"He's human", another shadow observed, a female.

"So?" said the guy Shiro held. "Sacrifices can be made. One less of the demon's dogs."

" _Shit._ " Shiro felt a chill run down his spine as light danced over the woman's face. That was Natsuya, the number one Dragoon in the entire Academy. "Stand back or he dies", he snarled, pulling his hostage closer to make sure she didn't have a clear aim on him.

"Not before you die", she said calmly, training her gun at him. But her eyes... weren't on him.

Shiro ducked just in time to feel a blade clip hair off the top of his head. Before he knew it, he'd slit his hostage's jugular, his sword trailing a red streak in the air as he swung it around at the attacker behind him. Steel met steel, and the sharp clank soaked into the squirming walls.

"Agari… chan…?"

The flickering of the white light was the only movement in her face. Cold eyes returned his stare. Calm. Rigid. The kind prepared to die for her mission.

A gunshot rang a short, reverberating crack, but was sucked up by the walls: the bullet bit into the surface way off its mark and shattered, like glass.

"Hey, Agari-chan! You don't have to do this!" She was good with a sword, but she was no Mephisto. Shiro had no need to fear for his safety – unless one counted the other four in the dimensional pocket. "I don't know about them, but you're not batshit-crazy. Whatever you think you're doing, stop it."

"Shut your mouth", she hissed, turning angles on a hairpin to create an opening.

" _She's going to kill me…_ " he realised, mind far away in disbelief. His body carried on the parrying on autopilot, grateful for all the training hours with a private instructor. "Oi, I don't wanna kill you! There has to be some-"

The bullet whizzed closer this time, but still pitifully off. What was up with that? Natsuya was supposed to be the Academy's best marksman.

"Just hit him!" Agari snarled at her, sweeping at Shiro's head and leaving a thin, stinging line on his throat that bled down into his collar.

" _She's going to kill me._ " The thought became clear and sharp as a breath in winter morning. Agari would kill him. Agari would kill him with the same cold determination she had tried to kill Midori. Just like she was trying to kill Mephisto. " _If I kill her…_ "

He tried to imagine the light going out in those hard, dark eyes. Tried to imagine Agari topple to the ground in slow motion, limp and empty. Imagined time stopping just as she hit the floor.

Imagination. The lies we tell ourselves, pretty or ugly. The light didn't go out, and she didn't fall slowly. She just fell. Not a word, not a twitch. Dead. Terminally, irrevocably dead.

Time didn't stop. Neither did he. Once you walk over the edge, you have no choice but fall to the bottom. If these people were prepared to die, and kill, then he would have to be the same.

He brushed the back of his hand over the edge of his katana and summoned his shahrokh to draw the fire from Natsuya's gun. Something was off with her aim – maybe the atmosphere in this dimension was different – but a lucky shot is as good for killing as a well-aimed one.

He charged for the seal, but jumped back as a bullet shattered right in front of his feet.

"I can't aim", a tall girl said in a rich, masculine-sounding voice. She circled to position herself between him and the binding seal. "You finish him off, I back you up if he tries to reach the seal."

The Knight, Katsu, that had led the search in the labyrinth: highest ranked in his year class…

The sight of his tall stature and strong frame made Shiro feel nauseous.

"Why, hi there. You the one who tried to snuff me in the labyrinth, then?" He heard gunshots from Natsuya, answered with rumbling growls. As long as he kept moving and didn't get too close to either Dragoon, hopefully…

"That was a warning. You are making a serious mistake, Fujimoto Shiro-kun." The spear-tipped khakkhara jingled like a rattlesnake in his hands, rippling under the steady chant that filled the place. "It's not too late for you to open your eyes and lay down your weapon."

The kind of speech you'd hear in a crappy film, his brain observed lightheadedly. The kind of speech the good guys throw the villain and the villain never listens. Shiro didn't have time for that - _Mephisto_ didn't have time for that. The chanting Aria sat cross-legged a few feet away from the hourglass, further into the cavity. Maybe…

"Shahrokh! Take that guy!" The familiar turned sharply at his command, flying at the sitting shape…

Shiro reacted just in time not to be skewered on the sharp end of Katsu's khakkhara. He slapped it away with his sword, but the Knight followed the movement through with a spin and numbed his arm with the heavier end of the staff. This wasn't like fighting a Knight with a sword.

A sharp, purple burst of light flashed through the cavity, and the shrill, agitated cry of the familiar reached his ears. Another protective circle around the chanter, then. They sure had come prepared.

"Help me out here!"

Had to work fast, had to work fast… He deflected another stab, this time prepared to block when the other end came around: or so he thought, but Katsu went into close combat instead. Not good, not with a guy that size…! Shiro backed, sword ready to stave off-

Over the heavy beat of shahrokh's wings, he heard the crackling sound of branches growing faster than normal: the wooden body of Katsu's khakkhara had sprouted twigs that grew into snugly fitting branches around his arms.

Shiro lunged forward and drove his sword home straight into the immobilised Knight's gut.

It could just as well have been his own.

" _I shouldn't be able to do this…_ " Not for very long, the tight feeling in his stomach told him. No, not for long. This was survival-mode, and it let him do things… but he wouldn't be able to keep his mind in this detached state much longer. " _I have to get to that blasted seal._ "

Katsu sagged to the ground in a growing pool of deep red, slid off his sword and left the sickening smell of blood mixed with intestine content in the air.

Had to get to the seal...!

Another gunshot, so close it made his head ring. Shahrokh's fierce growl turned shrill, and became a low, howling gasp. The demon went down, miasma oozing from her shuddering shape. Shiro dashed to cut down the tall Dragoon before she could turn the gun on him, but fell flat with a surprised gasp. He was too high on adrenaline to really feel it... but the hot, gushing feeling down his calf told him the cut was deep, and precise.

"That should keep you in place. Dog." Behind him, Natsuya had holstered her gun and used Agari's sword to slice off the tendon in the back of his knee.

"We should kill him", the other one said, doing it already with her hard eyes. There was no missing from that distance, even with a strange atmosphere. "After what he did to the others. He's sided with Satan and his minions; he can die with them."

"I think he should live." Natsuya circled to stand between him and the hourglass, sword-tip carefully aimed at his head. There was no compassion in that statement, and none on her face when she glanced at him down her nose. "At least long enough to see his master die first."

These people, just who the hell were they?

Adrenaline dulled the burning in his leg, sped through his veins and slowed time with each heartbeat. Rather than slip out of his cold survival-state, Shiro sank deeper into it; discarded any restraints set by compassion like a set of worn-out clothes. These people were no ordinary students of True Cross Academy. They were not going to give up their objective, and they were not going to let him get in their way. Either they died, or he did.

You think that choice is never easy to make. In reality, it's made for you. Once all other options have been disabled, there is only one choice.

He tightened his grip on the katana discreetly and tried to test how much mobility he had in his left leg. A distraction would be good, but there was nothing he-

"N-Natsuya-senpai…"

"Oh… 'Speak of the devil', they say", she said, looking past Shiro. "You made it this far, demon?"

How Mephisto even moved in that state was beyond Shiro. He clutched the chest of the hakama, as if physically holding on to his body and his life; staggered forward, a corpse fresh from the grave. Tar-black creeks of miasma oozed from nose and eyes in a face that twisted with the effort to force decaying muscles to move through power of will alone. He was in a lot of pain. And he was royally furious.

"I would expect you to", Natsuya continued, watching with a cold smile as he cringed with each rhythmic beat of the chant. "It wouldn't do to miss your own funeral."

Mephisto took the fist from his chest. He wasn't clutching the hakama: he was clutching… a tiny, delicate hourglass…?

"Fili Dei…" he rasped, murder burning in his eyes, "…miserete nobis…" He crushed the miniature in his hand.

The gargantuan hourglass shattered, showering the cavity and everyone in it with gleaming shrapnel; the flames clawed at the seal barrier, roaring and twisting like wild beasts behind bars.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Mephisto slump down on hands and knees, vomiting thick miasma. Before him, Natsuya toppled over, back pierced by hundreds and hundreds of translucent shards. And over the roar of the flames, the chant went on…

"That evens the odds a bit…" Shiro gritted his teeth and dragged himself up on his feet. As if he could complain about a cut tendon after Mephisto's performance.

The other Dragoon hadn't been lucky enough to have a human shield. She clutched a gash in her neck, aiming at him with an unsteady, bleeding hand.

"How could he do that?! He's supposed to be powerless, how could he do that?!"

"Oh he always has a trick or two up his sleeve", Shiro said, forcing the agonized grimace into a smirk as he dragged himself closer. Let her think it had been planned, that would unsettle her.

"You _dog_ …!" she hissed, missing him by less than a hand's breadth. "If you had even a sliver of honour as a human being, you would hack his head off!"

Another shot, one that almost grazed his arm. He didn't pay any mind, focused solely on completing what he'd set out to do. What he had to do. If he'd counted correctly, she only had two left…

"Then I don't have much honour."

"That's obvious enough!" she screamed, face livid and her hand trembling: he was right, she only had two bullets left. Question was, could he make her miss at this short a distance…? "Do you even know who that is?!"

"Yeah: Prince Mephistopheles, King of Foppishness."

She cracked a shrill, crazed laughter. Perfect… Shiro clenched his teeth and forced himself forward, readying to-

"Fully ensnared in the demon's lies! That's Prince Samael: _Crown Prince_ Samael!" her voice pierced the chant and the thumping heartbeat in his ears. "Satan's eldest son!"

Shiro saw her lips move… he heard the sounds from her mouth… but his brain couldn't code the words into meaning. Samael. _That_ name was in his school books.

Shiro's head turned of its own accord.

" _He's Satan's…?_ "

The bullet tore into his arm with the force of a hundred scorpion tails. Half blind from pain, half furious from it, he cut her throat in one sweep. And that was the last thing his left arm would do for him for many months to come.

"Nngh, damn…!"

It was pure, hammered-in reflex that made him clumsily sheathe his katana before staunching the blood: the kind of hardwired commando the mind has learnt to run on autopilot despite how ridiculousin the context. The part of his brain that made plans without his assistance also kicked in, and told him to prioritise: seal first, patching later.

Seal? He looked from the madly clawing flames to the barely breathing demon. Unseal his powers at maximum effect? He wouldn't be able to house even a candle-flame in his condition.

" _Satan's son…_ " Telling himself that the throbbing in his arm wasn't so bad, he bent down and picked up the gun with his right hand. One bullet. " _For whom…?_ " a sardonic thought said curtly.

Who was the true enemy here?

A little late to develop a conscience. A little late for most things, really. Time was slipping, and he didn't know what the hell to do. So Shiro left the lead to the part of him that seemed to know what it was doing, and focused all of his being on that thing alone; restraints discarded, ready to do whatever the situation required.

"Oi…" The whispered chant was deafening in the silence; and the Aria didn't move a muscle. " _That's the kid… the freshman with the key… Susumu…_ " Shiro limped slowly over to the smaller seal, already knowing his options. "I'm gonna tell you once, and only once." He put the gun to the guy's head. No missing at this distance. "Stop chanting." He met Shiro's eyes, completely calm. " _And a good little actor you are, too._ " Shiro cocked the hammer with a soulless click. "Or I'll shoot."

It's one thing to kill in the heat of battle, when you feel the frailty of your life hammering at your eardrums. It's another thing to look a defenceless kid in the eye and pull the trigger in cold blood. Susumu knew that, relied on it: told him so with his eyes.

What he didn't know was that Shiro Fujimoto was a man of his word. A man with the potential to accomplish anything, given the right motivation and the right amount of adrenaline iron-coating his nerves. Few people are that ruthless – few even believe people can be that ruthless. That's what makes them such easy marks for the ones who are.

Before Susumu had the hidden knife out of its sheath, Shiro pulled the trigger. The strange atmosphere of the pocket dimension swallowed the sound of the combustion, and the chant with it.

There. He'd hit the bottom. He was the lowliest a human being can be. But he was alive: and with the option in mind, he couldn't say he regretted the choice.

" _Never was a good person, was I…?_ " he thought wryly. His hand was shaking; good. Then he wasn't a complete monster. He winced at the sound as the gun clattered to the floor.

There is silence, and there is silence. There is silence that is tense, like a glass vase balancing on the edge of a table, waiting to be broken: and there is silence that forbids such interruption, striking ears deaf with its unfelt weight. And there is the final silence; the silence of a breath that will never be followed by another.

A silence broken by laughter coated in velvet nightmares.


	51. Shahrokh: No goodbyes

He had known for some time that Mephisto wore a mask before the human world. He had seen that mask slip. He knew what lay beneath it. And yet, as Samael rose where Mephisto had fallen, Shiro couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Like a deer frozen before the headlights of a speeding car, he watched the demon get to his feet, the teeth in his grin stark white against the black miasma, his eyes furnaces between madness and rapture.

"Some exorcist you are, Shiro-kun", the familiar voice said, in the familiar cadence that didn't belong to that person. "Killing humans to save a demon."

"Well…" Shiro felt something tug his lips that could have been a smile, but was more likely to be an unnerved grimace. "Not just any demon…"

A weak chortle escaped Samael's blackened lips. That's right... He was still sealed…

"Indeed, I wonder how they found out… but no matter…" he rasped. "My name and title were never meant for human ears. In chess there is always sacrifices", he said with a smile Shiro had seen only once before: when he had captured the demon that possessed Yasuda.

He was going to…?

" _I should never have spiked his tea…_ " Shiro's brain worked in ultra rapid on the entirely wrong track as the demon approached, katana gleaming in the shifting light. Well, of course: he was a liability, he knew things humans were never intended to know, but-

"Not gonna happen", he said coldly, drawing his own sword and placing the tip over the outer line of the binding seal: the only thing between the demon's fully awakened heart and his battered body. "Unless you wanna go poof in a more literal way, I suggest you back down."

"Go ahead: send me back to Gehenna", he sneered, not even slowing his pace. "I'll find a new host."

"I don't think you want to." If he survived this, he would consider a career in acting. "I happen to know that's not just any host you're wearing. You were quite fond of your old friend, weren't you? Fond enough to bind yourself to him for twenty-four years, and hold on to his body and his mother tongue four centuries after your contract expired. You'd hate to lose a memento like that." Blame it on nervousness, adrenaline, or crazy conviction that he was going to pull it off: Shiro smiled. "Wouldn't you, Johann Faust?"

Whatever Samael had expected to hear, that wasn't it. Grimoires and history books had been carefully wiped clean of a demon presumably named Mephistopheles, save for a mention of a certain old folk tale _._ And when Shiro had hunted down a copy of _Historia von Dr. Johann Faustus_ , things had fallen in place.

He didn't know what he was doing, really. He only knew what he was going to do: sometimes, that's all you need. That, and a bloody good poker face to cover for your frantic heartbeat.

"How about striking a deal with me, your highness?" he continued, taking advantage of Samael's surprise. "I give you my silence: I will keep your secrets. For eternity. In return… In return, I ask you to give me your trust. For the same period of time."

Samael stared at him, at loss for words. Then his lips quirked, and he burst out laughing.

" _He's… still the same…_ "

Samael laughed with his whole body, committing the heinous crime of resting the tip of the katana on the floor for support. He laughed like a madman, clutching his bony chest; laughed until bright tears marred the black smudges on his face.

"Ehehehahahaaa you have guts, Fujimoto Shiro! Truly…!" He was close enough to cut Shiro down where he stood, but made no move to do so. The green eyes scrutinised his face, reflecting the dancing light. "A deal thin as air, and solid as bedrock… kukukuku… only a reckless idiot like you would think to propose such a thing as friendship with someone like me."

Just like that first day in his office, Shiro's consciousness was hanging by a thread; suspended above his body like a balloon filled with fear and crazy hopes, floating on the absurdity of the situation.

"Yeah, well, you gotta admit: a reckless idiot is a lot more fun alive than dead."

"So true, so true~" Samael slid a clawed finger over the cut in Shiro's neck: Shiro couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. Passing the finger to his lips, the demon licked the blood off. "Deal."

"Yuck – wait, just what did you…?" He remembered Faust signing his body and soul over in blood. "Was that…?"

The cocksure grin was back in place, even if he looked like he'd been dragged through seven hells.

"Just wondering what idiot tastes like~"

"…you're a jerk." And Shiro really should learn not to speak his mind…

"Coming from the same mouth as 'King of Foppishness'?" he remarked dryly, ears pulling down. "I take it your eternal silence comes part and parcel with your eternal impudence?"

"Sort of, yeah", Shiro smiled, barely able to stand as the weight of death left him. Holy crap, he couldn't believe it… "Now what? Shouldn't your heart, er, understand that it can calm down?"

"It would…" His eyes went from the shattered, glass-like substance on the floor to the flames that hissed at their shackles. "If it had been connected to me. So much for keeping it safe, it seems", he snorted. "It all boils down to that seal they crafted: can't access my powers through it, can't create a new container, can't deactivate…" His gaze landed on the exorcists' seal: Shiro self-consciously removed his katana from it. "And if we break it, my heart will disintegrate my host body instantaneously. I could return… but not fast enough to stave off the onslaught on the Academy."

"Wasn't it kinda stupid to break the container?" The words were past his lips before he knew he'd thought them. "I mean… You told me explicitly not to, and then you go and break it yourself?"

"In chess there is always gambles and sacrifices." The white flames reflected in his distant eyes. No, not flames. Shiro didn't know what it was, but… he got the sudden, crazy idea that it was liquid light and darkness, devouring each other ceaselessly. "It is troublesome indeed, however. I need an intermediate container, somewhere to store my heart where I can access it while I create a new one…" Samael pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning in dismay. "To find a vessel strong enough took centuries the last time."

Shiro remembered Kohu-sensei's words. The Baal rarely made an appearance in Assiah; rarely found bodies that were strong enough to hold their immense powers without breaking.

"I'll be your vessel." As usual, stupid things leapt out of Shiro's mouth without asking his brain. A sign as good as any that he was fine, really. Apart from the fact that his arm and leg were beginning to hurt infernally. "I've handled possession before."

Samael glanced down at him. Isn't it odd how every centimeter such a glance travels downwards multiplies derision by ten…?

"Do you realise who I am?"

"I just found out: you're Samael, Satan's eldest son."

It was that simple, really… Same person, different name.

"You really have no sense of drama, Shiro. I am the King of Time, eldest in Gehenna's royal family, outranked only by Satan himself; a demigod by definition." Good to hear his ego hadn't suffered any damage… "You're human; a puny little bag of meat and bones with a thousand ways to die. Your body is as useless as this one for containing my heart."

"Not the best outlook, but it's not like you have a choice, is it?" Shiro gestured at the seal and the flames with his good arm. "Either you stay in Assiah, powerless, or return to Gehenna and watch the Academy and your favors with the Vatican go up in smoke. Or you borrow my body and let me help you. It's only gonna be for a short time, right? Like you said, an intermediate container while you fix up your old one. I can last that long. So what's it gonna be?"

The demon eyed him with a curious look. Not that Shiro was surprised: he sounded three-ways-crazy at the very least, but… he had a plan. Somewhere. He just didn't quite know it himself yet.

"If you wanted to die, it would have been much quicker and cleaner to let me do the honors."

It was grotesque, how easily he said it. And meant it. Meant every word of what he said.

"Don't doubt that, but I don't hear any other alternative from you", he observed, carefully forgetting how bloody much his leg and arm hurt. "Meanwhile, there's no barrier shielding the students, no keys to evacuate them to safety, no other way for you to get your powers back." Ugh, this would sound so damn cheesy… "Look, I'm not one to play hero, okay? It's shitty work, but it's work that has to be done, and I don't see anyone else around who can. There's only one way to go and you know it. So what's it gonna be, Samael? Are you gonna trust me?"

The demon glared at him. Calculated. Calculated again. He didn't look as though he liked the outcome.

"…a gamble it is, then", he concluded. "Worst one I ever made. Only one formality to take care of first…" He bit his thumb and muttered something over the blood that welled up.

"Cursing me?" Shiro wondered, eyebrows rising.

"Blessing you", he sneered wryly. "Of sorts. My name and fatal verses are not things some high school students can figure out on their own. However, I shall have to track down the mastermind behind this without your assistance, as you seem hell-bent on dying without fulfilling your end of the deal." He whipped out the lacey handkerchief and pressed against a wound that wouldn't heal over without demonic powers. "Fool's luck, the purest form of it", he snorted. "I never disband a contract; it's unbecoming someone of my position. But you – you reckless, foul-mouthed, air-headed idiot –, your soul I will not claim." He rewarded Shiro a dry, condescending glance. "Though I doubt it will find a place in heaven anyway."

Shiro could but stare at Samael. Oh, let him rattle off his derogatory tirades: no words could conceal what he was really saying. And even so, no words could fully express what it took for Gehenna's Crown Prince to release a soul.

For the first time in his life, there was no cheeky response ready to leap out before he could think. Only a crooked grin.

"I suppose smiling in the face of death confirms it: you _are_ mad. Any last words before you commit suicide?"

Shiro circled the raging pillar of flame slowly. As funeral pyres go, that was a pretty spectacular one. The limping lachrymose of his echoing steps drowned in the rapid fluttering of a heart that didn't want to die just yet. He could die, he knew that very well. It wouldn't be a pretty death, either  
Quick, if he were lucky. Why was he doing this again…? For the school? For the students? For his own stupid ego?

Or was it something as simple as helping a friend out?

Tch, wouldn't help him by dying. Yet somewhere within, vague as a whisper between waking and sleeping, Shiro knew he wouldn't die. It could be vain hope, blind faith, or common denial; he felt a deep, solid conviction that the flames of hell wouldn't devour him. Heh. Thinking really didn't go well in Shiro-kun.

"No goodbyes", he murmured, a shaky grin quirking his lips. Before he could formulate second thoughts, he gritted the sword's tip over the lines.

It wasn't black, but it wasn't white either. And it wasn't coaxing him to surrender control: it wrought it from him, crawled in under his skin, licked the insides of his lungs and tore his senses out of his body.

The pain in his arm disappeared, the fatigue disappeared: everything… disappeared… Like autumn leaves blowing off a tree, he disappeared, bit by bit… so relaxing, like going to sleep after a long, tiring day… making the world he knew seem like nothing but a dream...

" _Ngah…!_ " Something floundered in the evaporating nothingness, something noisy and bothersome; a thought, a half-forgotten fragment of something that had been important… " _I… I'm… Fujimoto… Shiro…_ " And that thing inside him was _not_ Fujimoto Shiro.

He grasped through the thickening numbness, reached for his scattered pieces. And the more he reached out, the more he struggled to hold his self together, the more fierce became the force that was breaking him apart.

" _Part of me, not… controlling me…!_ " He gritted his teeth, forced himself to remain awake and aware. There was no fighting this back: only holding on for dear life to what consciousness he retained and hope that he could buy enough time. " _Gah, Mephisto…_ " His mind jerked and twisted to escape the intruder, slipping out of his grasp, striving toward that state of bliss oblivion where it encapsulated itself in coma and hid from a power it couldn't withstand. A power that would consume and kill him. " _…arrogant twat…_ " Mephisto, Samael – whatever his name was, he was still the same stupid, annoying clown. " _You're not… winning…_ " he snarled, tying his self together around that thought. " _Not against me. We want the same thing... so would you fucking work with me you stupid old goat...?!_ "

The same thing, the same goal, the same... same cocky, swaggering prankster that he had so much in common with.

Floor. He felt the floor under his hands. Shiro anchored his consciousness to that point, focusing all of his being on the hard surface and the splitter that was his sole link to the world, and to a body that was fatigued and hurting and struggling. He found his lungs and breathed, breathed as controlled as he could. The darkness wasn't crushing him now: it was streaming through him, as if he had found a shunt to redirect the force, as if... it had become part of him.

Or he a part of it...?

He almost lost concentration at the change, and the darkness wasted no time exploiting his slip: it pushed, roaring through him and making his whole body tingle with an electrical buzz.

" _Like hell I'd die losing to a guy who wears a pantyhose…!_ "

Lifting the world on his eyelids, Shiro squinted at the demon through the flickering light; and the last shreds of the illusion Mephisto Pheles were burnt away. That was Prince Samael: a demigod, a King of Gehenna crowned in flames.

"Oh my…" The creature's smile stretched languidly like a cat in the sun, basking beneath eyes that burned yellow, not green. He raised a clawed hand tipped with candle-flames of white. "I had almost forgotten… what my birthright feels like…"

"Oi, would you hurry up a little! Your birthright's tearing me to pieces!"

The yellow gaze fell on him, and Shiro felt his body and consciousness slip from him again. _That_ was his real self…?

"Hurry…?" the creature that had been Mephisto put middle finger and thumb together. "I have all the time in the world~"

*snap*

The next thing Shiro was aware of was something being torn out of him. His mind fell back into his body in a hundred jumbled pieces; it drowned him out from his senses, and his head filled with thick, painfully throbbing cotton wad. Distantly, he felt a smooth, gloved hand cup his face, turning it gently back and forth.

"Knock it off…"

Never mind gently: Shiro didn't want to move, or be moved, ever again.

"Conscious, even? Looks like there's more to you than just a big mouth…" Samael snapped his fingers, and something that felt like paper tissue dabbed at his upper lip and chin. "How are you feeling?"

What an absolutely ridiculous question! Ngh, but it hurt too much to laugh…

"Like hell. No offence", he confessed faintly.

"Not even close to the real deal, believe me", he chuckled, lifting him from the floor.

He should've protested. He didn't want to be carried like a girl; deep down he didn't. But everything was muddling together so quickly, and he couldn't find his mouth…

With a muffled bang they were somewhere else, and Shiro felt his limp body touch down on the soft, sleek surface of Me- Samael's gaudy bedcovers.

"I have a lot of work to do, so if you'd be so kind and stay put this time?"

"Not goin' anywhere", he mumbled with the shadow of a crooked smile.

Shiro faded into slumber heavier than unconsciousness, and he was never really sure if he heard a "thank you" or not.


	52. An end, a beginning

Everything ached. Literally everything. Few people get to experience having a sore heel, or a sore left nostril, but Shiro had the benefit of getting the whole package at once. It felt marvellous. Marvellous in the neutral sense that an experience is spectacular, and not necessarily in a good way. Shiro rolled over to get up, only to find his plans thwarted by a resounding _b'tong_ right in his forehead.

"Ouch, ow, dammit…!" His voice automatically dropped to a whisper on the last syllables, as he realized he hadn't bumped his head on the bed table, but on another head. " _Guy's got a skull made of stone_ ", he thought as he rubbed his forehead, glaring at the face half buried in the huge, heart-shaped pillow. " _And he's still sleeping!_ "

Nobody will admit it, but everyone who has had the opportunity to study a sleeping person has taken great interest in doing so. While _everybody looks like angels when they are asleep_ is a bit overly euphemistic, it's not entirely untrue. Mephis- _Samael_ was barely recognizable when he slept. Without his ubiquitous smile, without that look in his eyes that could piss off the blind, he looked… serene. Not like a demon at all. And twenty years younger.

The pink yukata piled loosely over a body that was little more than a collection of twigs arranged like a sleeping person. He _had_ seemed thin when he supported him, but seriously… he really should stop drinking that tea…

Shiro couldn't help it: a wide grin tugged his lips. The demon had curled up in his sleep and hugged a huge, blue unicorn-plushie close to his chest. How's that for a son of Satan…? Weird as it was, it brought to mind Agari's words from long ago: cute.

And now Agari was dead. The saboteurs were dead, his contract was disbanded, and he was free to leave True Cross Academy. No life-and-death battles against demons, no bantering with a principal from hell, no fighting back-to-back with classmates that were anything from hot-tempered pilgrims to lesbian half-demons.

The human mind can adapt to almost any conditions, bad as well as good: and sometimes, it doesn't want to re-adapt.

" _I'm going to be an exorcist_." The corner of Shiro's lips yanked into an incredulous smile. " _I'm going to be a freakin' awesome exorcist._ "

At some point in his voyeuristic explorations, Shiro realized that Me- that Samael was curled up because he had hogged all the bedcovers to himself. Deciding he was getting up anyway and might as well, he awkwardly spread the covers over the principal. It _was_ awkward to wake up next to another man; even more so when you knew the "man" was Satan's son.

Shiro sat down on his haunches beside the bed and squinted at him one extra time, still not really believing it. Satan's son? Eldest son? A sweet-toothed mecha freak that slept with a stuffed unicorn…? What on earth was he doing in the Vatican?

"Who's a pervert now, Shiro?" The drooping eyes opened a sliver.

"Go back to sleep."

"So you can continue whatever you were up to~? Tsk tsk, such a-"

Shiro grabbed the unicorn and pushed it over Samael's head.

"You're much better when you're quiet, you dirty-minded demon."

"Mud-monkey! You uncivilized, rude little coal tar! Is this any way to treat royalty?!"

He freed himself of the plushie, sat up and glared daggers at Shiro.

"You're not royalty in Assiah", Shiro smirked, taking in the lovely picture before him. "And you might wanna check a mirror before you go calling other people uncivilized."

Samael glanced sideways at the bedroom mirror. Oh, his face… Almost worth dying for.

"Point taken", he grumbled, massaging his tired eyelids. The ridiculously coloured hair stood in all directions, making him look decidedly un-royal. "How I'd like to take this day off…" he sighed and poofed a matching Unico comb into his hand. "Alas, no rest for the wicked."

"Speaking of nothing." Shiro held up his hands before him. "I suppose it's thanks to you I'm un-shot?"

"That was a most unexpected side effect", he said, carefully combing his two-coloured haystack smooth. "I didn't possess you, technically; only stored all my power in you." An ironic smile touched his lips. "But as I regenerated myself, you seem to have hijacked part of my magic and were healed as well." He cocked a thin eyebrow. "Otherwise I would never have put you in my bed."

"How very like you, letting injured people sleep on the floor… So…" Where to begin? What to ask? "This whole thing, just what-"

There were two rapid knocks on the door; Belial entered without waiting for response.

"Pardon my manners, master, but I heard your highness were awake." He sounded rushed, but even so took his time to bow in that exquisitely proper manner specific to butlers. "Vatican representatives arrived just now. I am informed they are quite impatient and are headed for your highness' mansion as I speak." He paused. "It would be very detrimental if they discovered your highness'… guest."

Uh-huh: _guest._ Shiro felt heat shooting through his cheeks at the implication in the butler's voice.

"So soon? I wager Beaumonde is among them~" An amused smile tugged the corners of Meph- Samael's lips. "Keep my guest out of the way, Belial. On second thought: keep him busy, lest he decides to poke his nose where it doesn't belong again. Breakfast and a hot bath should take care of that."

"As you wish, master." The butler bowed again, and fixed his reptile-eyed gaze on Shiro. "This way, young man."

Shiro followed Belial to the kitchen in the servants' quarters, and the virtual host of demons that worked there. Maids, servants, that little purple monkey with a chef hat… Samael may not be royalty in Assiah, but he did have his own court.

"Which would you like first, young man?" Belial asked, turning his head ever so slightly to glance at him. "A bath, or breakfast?"

"Er… a bath?" Ugh, the formality…

"I shall escort you then. Sébastien?" A manservant, whose black hair was roughly the same style as Me- as Samael's, halted. "You have fairly the same build as his highness' guest. Fetch one of your spare uniforms and leave it by the bathroom in the eastern wing, third floor."

"Yes, my lord."

Sébastien hurried off to deliver the platter of jam tarts, but nobody paid him any notice. They were all looking at Shiro, as if he were some curious wild animal that had found its way into the kitchen. What, they weren't used to human guests…? Or was it because they had the same idea Belial had?

"I'm not… his _guest_ in that sense", he tried, stalking after the straight-backed butler as they made their way for the bathroom on the third floor. "We weren't…"

"Of course not. I know my master's tastes: a boy like you is not on his highness' menu", the butler assured in a schooled voice.

Really? _Really?_ So Mephi- Samael _had_ been making fun of him all this time? There was no hidden meaning in what he said? Relief, as of heavenly absolution, flooded Shiro.

"You made it sound like I was", he said, trying not to let show how thankful he was.

"That was not my intention: I merely did not know how to address you. You are, as previously said, not the kind of person I would expect to find in his highness' bedchamber. …what _is_ your relation to his highness?" he inquired. Oh yes, all demons are curious…

A smile tugged the corner of Shiro's mouth.

"I'm his friend."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The apocrypha:** I don't think Samael would leave his fatal verses out there for someone to use against him. The Dead Sea Scrolls were found hidden in a remote cave in the West Bank in the 50-60's: some of them are older, different copies of existing Christian or Hebrew scripts, some of them are forgeries, and some of them are entirely unknown works from over two thousand years ago. The theory, as far as I know, is that they were hidden when their keepers fled pursuit of some sort. Pursued by somebody who wanted to secure his immortality, maybe…?
> 
>  **The hourglass:** Well, he is the King of Time… The credit for the pyramid shape goes to my colourful clientele of weird friends, though. Ask anybody with at least half a foot in the UFO/new age/spiritualism/general off-the-grid thinking and they will tell you that if you're going to concentrate, channel, or augment energy, then the pyramid is what you're looking for.
> 
>  **The heart:** Samael claimed he hid his heart in canon, too, so… what says he hides it in his body? Since he's the only demon as far as we know that can bend space and jump freely across dimensions, I figure he'd make use of that and hide his most vulnerable part where it can't be threatened from Gehenna or Assiah. I wasn't sure about the shape of his heart, and if we ever get to see it in the manga I'll go back and change. As it is, I tried to come up with something that made at least a little sense. The definition of time is change. Time births change, and change creates time. So I figure his heart would be constantly shifting, at least in "activated form".
> 
>  **Fili Dei miserete nobis:** Below Mephisto's emblem is a banner with a microscopic motto, but I think I deciphered it correctly when I read it as Fili Dei miserete nobis. There is a line in the Angelic Hymn, one of the most ancient and important psalms in the Roman-Catholic church, that reads Filius Patris /-/ miserere nobis that is the closest existing reference one can find. It means "Son of the Father, have mercy on us". Mephisto's motto could simply be a reference to that, but I'm not sure it is.
> 
> Fili Dei miserete nobis has three possible translations in the AnE context, as I see it:  
> #1 Sons of God, have mercy on us (if you believe it would be a paraphrase of the Angelic Hymn)  
> #2 Sons of God, pity us (but this is more interesting, imo)  
> #3 Sons of God, lament us (and this could get REALLY interesting)
> 
>  **Johann Faustus:** Yes, I think so. I don't believe we'll ever see that confirmed, but I do think so. There are enough references to Goethe's _Faust_ in AnE for me to think that Mephisto is _that_ Mephisto and that his body is _that_ Faust.
> 
> Historia von Dr Johann Faustus (1587) also contains this line: "I do promise him in return that, when I be fully sated of that which I desire of him, twenty-four years also being past, ended and expired, he may at such a time and in whatever manner or wise pleaseth him order, ordain, reign, rule and possess all that may be mine: body, property, flesh, blood, etc., herewith duly bound over in eternity and surrendered by covenant in mine own hand by authority and power of these presents, as well as of my mind, brain, intent, blood and will." I don't expect you to remember, but I did have Mephisto say in ch 19 that the body he possesses is his by right: he'd bought it as part of the deal he made with its former owner. =P Heh, the 1587 manuscript also says that Faustus' body was bashed to a bloody bag of broken bones when the contract expired: but if he was that badly beaten, I shall twiddle my thumbs and pretend that the corpse people found was in too poor condition for identification, and that it was merely some errand boy or other unfortunate soul that bit the dust…
> 
>  **The possession:** There was one line, uttered by Yukio early on in the manga, that stuck in my head and never rattled out: "Father Fujimoto was the only person in this world Satan could possess." I know translations differ, so here's an online version: "Father was the only man in the world thought to be able to sustain possession by Satan himself…"
> 
> The question remains in both cases: why did people think this? How do you establish something like that? Call Satan over for a test-run...? Well, this was my solution to the problem: I think that Shiro had been possessed before, by a demon whose powers are almost equal to Satan's own, and survived. That would allow for such a theory. And the demon in question would have to be one high in Gehenna's hierarchy, no…?
> 
>  **Unico:** A cute little unicorn from an Osamu Tezuka manga from 1976. He's blue, with pink mane and little cinnamon bun-curled ears, and Mephisto loves him deeply~ Actually, this one is an anachronism: Unico didn't appear until November that year, but I couldn't resist this…

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Contract(s)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944294) by [rowan_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowan_one/pseuds/rowan_one)




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